


Room For One More Troubled Soul

by AbbyWell



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas, Found Family, Found Friends, Homelessness, Human AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-02 10:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21160148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyWell/pseuds/AbbyWell
Summary: It's Christmas time in the big city, and a handful of wandering destinies collide within a homeless shelter decorated with faded streamers and broken strings of lights. When the cold world outside has turned its back, seven people find kindred spirits and shoulders to lean on.





	1. The weather outside is frightful

**There was something about mid-December that sent the cold right into a person’s bones**, as if the world had realised it was nearing the solstice and wanted to give it one last push before the days started to get longer again. 

Caleb pondered this as he cupped his hands together, blowing on his fingers enough to warm them so he could pull the zipper of the little domed tent closed and shut out the night. To be honest, it wasn’t much better inside, but at least the tent would hold back the biting wind and minimise the risk of being kicked by passers-by who weren’t looking where they're going. 

He unravelled the long piece of old string connected to the zipper and looped the other end around his index finger, so he’d be alerted if someone attempted to open up the door. Trying to hide shivers that felt like they were shaking his very bones, he crawled deeper inside the tiny tent, careful not to tangle the string, and curled up cat-like on the floor. His chest ached more than usual. He ignored it.

"How are you doing, Schatz?" he whispered to the bundle of rags beside him. 

"This is the worst day of my life," said the bundle. 

Caleb chuckled. "I am sorry, Schatz. Would this help?" He reached into one of the many pockets of his long, bedraggled brown coat, and pulled out a lump of chocolate wrapped in a scrap of gold foil. "It is a couple of days old, but I think it is still good."

The bundle shifted, and two large eyes peered out between a fringe of greasy black hair and the edge of a thick white scarf - or, at least, it had been white at some point in the past. “You saved some?” 

“Ja.”

“We should share.” Finally, the bundle sat up, and Nott pulled her scarf down to smile up at him. He returned it without flinching, having long gotten used to the mess of broken teeth and scars that made up the lower half of her face. She put her hands, balled into fists, against her hips. “You didn’t have dinner, did you?” The accusation creaked and scraped its way up and out of her mouth.

Caleb shook his head solemnly. “Nein, I did not.”

“Then you need to eat!” She lunged for the chocolate and tore the wrapping off, breaking it in two and offering Caleb the larger piece. They tapped their chocolate together with a quiet “cheers”.

A soft knock sounded on the side of the tent, followed by an equally soft voice with a playfully lilting accent. “Anybody home?”

“Go away!” shrieked Nott, mouth sticky with chocolate, suddenly on her feet and brandishing a knife. Caleb had no idea where she’d gotten it from. “I’ll gut you!”

"They cannot get in," Caleb assured her, even as he fumbled in his pocket for the familiar shape of his lighter. “They cannot get in.”

“Sorry to alarm you both,” said the voice, smooth and warm as caramel. Caleb didn’t trust it in the least. “I just wanted to let you know, there’s a place nearby where you could spend the night without the risk of freezing your nethers. I’ll leave the directions here, shall I?” 

They heard a quiet rustling sound as something was tucked underneath the edge of the tent floor. Delicate footsteps shuffled away.

Nott immediately wrenched the tent’s zipper open and poked her head out into the cold night, glaring at the shadows. Caleb did the same a moment later, just in time to see the tip of a long coat trailing round the corner and vanishing into the darkness.

“Yeah, you better run!” Nott yelled, shaking her tiny fist. “Stay out of our tent!”

Caleb glanced down and noticed a yellow triangle, glowing almost against the frost-speckled pavement below. He stretched his arm past Nott’s head and plucked it from the ground. Despite where it had been left, it was dry; a square of paper with directions written in a swirling hand. “Put the knife away, please,” he murmured, before retreating inside.

Nott followed him and curled up on his lap, shuddering even in her many layers of blankets. “Clay House,” she read, tugging the note easily from Caleb’s frozen fingers. “It could be a trap. What if it’s just an empty building and that person’s waiting there to attack us? They could be someone who preys on homeless people, like that guy with all the tattoos.”

“I do not -” Caleb’s next words were suddenly lost a series of huge heaving coughs that shook his skinny body to the core. Nott immediately scrambled behind him and thumped him on the back, which didn’t help all that much but it was a nice gesture. 

After an agonising couple of minutes, he could finally breathe again. “Perhaps,” he gasped, clutching his chest, “it is worth the risk, to get out of the cold tonight.”

“Maybe.” Nott bit her lip. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder so she could see him, taking in her boy’s red face and the dark circles under his eyes.

That did it. So what if they could be walking into a horrible trap? Caleb needed warmth, and sleep, and he wouldn’t get either of those things out here. “I mean, you know I love the Dome, Caleb, it was really clever of you to find it and fix it up…”

He coughed again, not as many this time but just as wet and harsh, making her wince. “But...?” he choked out.

She sighed. “I can’t feel my toes.”

“Heh.” Caleb smiled ruefully. “Very well. Let us get you somewhere warm, ja?”

It took them a long time to gather everything together, what with cold hands that would barely move and no bags to carry Nott’s rag pile. While Caleb wrestled with the tent - more out of necessity than anything else, as while his cough was worsening by the minute Nott just wasn’t capable of folding the tent up by herself - she decided to put on as many layers as possible, to the point of looking like a walking ball of fabric scraps. It was almost impossible to discern her outline. 

Panting hard, Caleb finally stood triumphant with the subdued tent tucked under his arm and looked her up and down. “You are a Christmas pudding, Schatz.”

Nott grinned beneath her scarf. “Does that mean I get cream?”

“Cream, custard, brandy butter. Whatever you wish.” He took her hand and they began to walk down the street. Progress was slow, with Caleb forced to stop and cough his lungs up every few minutes, but eventually they made it onto the main road.

At that time of night, the shops were closed, but their festive window displays were still visible; huge arrangements of flowers and baubles in glass vases, trees of all colours and sizes, blankets of glittering fake snow, banquet tables laden with food that, though obviously fake, still looked real enough to make their mouths water. One department store even had a whole sleigh with lifesize wicker reindeer, pulling a family of mannequins all wrapped up in red and stylishly trimmed with fur.

Nott saw the child mannequin and immediately looked away.

After ten more minutes or so of trudging and trying not to slip over, they finally found a large grey building, overgrown with ivy to the point where it seemed like the plants were the only thing holding it together. In spite of its imposing facade, however, there was a warm light shining through the windows and the smell of something spicy lingering in the air.

They looked at each other. It certainly didn’t seem like a trap. “I’ll go first,” Nott said, pushing in front of Caleb protectively, though she looked like she could bolt at any moment.

Caleb reached down and squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. “How about I knock, and you get ready in case somebody jumps out at us?”

“Deal.” Somewhere inside the ball of fabric, Nott’s hand unerringly found her knife.

He reached up to knock on the door, but at his slight touch it swung open with a soft creak. The two of them glanced at each other, then Nott crept forward through the door into a room lit by seemingly hundreds of fairy lights. Caleb had never seen so many fairy lights in one room, and though some of the bulbs were broken or missing the rest were dancing in time to some silent tune, so the overall effect was a tiny bit magical. 

Looking around as they slowly wandered further into the room, they saw a few tables with board games set up, a couple of threadbare couches, and some bookshelves along one wall which immediately caught Caleb’s attention. He was a little disappointed to see that they were practically empty, and what books there were had definitely seen better days.

Nott, meanwhile, was drawn to the back wall where a cork noticeboard hung beside a collection of photos of different people, alongside a narrow staircase leading up. A small and scraggly Christmas tree sat at the bottom of the stairs, in pride of place on a little wobbly table that was the perfect height for her, covered in faded coloured streamers and tinsel. On the very top of the tree sat a slightly wonky homemade angel.

There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the room. 

“Um.” Caleb hesitated. “Hallo?”

Sounds of movement came from where neither of them had looked - the kitchen, which was dull and grey in contrast to the man who now appeared before them. He was extremely tall and skinny, with hair that was long and pink on one side and shaved into a spiral pattern on the other, wearing a baggy light green jumper speckled with bleach spots. He had a tea towel slung over his right shoulder. 

As he stepped out from behind the counter, moving surprisingly quietly for someone wearing such big brown boots, he looked them both over and smiled placidly. “I think I’ve only got one clean cup left. Hold on.” He ducked back into the kitchen and out of sight.

Mystified, Nott and Caleb approached and watched him over the kitchen counter, washing and drying cups and plates. The air was warm and smelt of tea. He turned to look at them and smiled again. There were soap bubbles on his nose.

“Just a minute.” He dried two more cups and filled them with tea from a giant metal urn nearby, arranging the cups on a tray with milk and sugar then carrying it over to one of the tables. He sat down, folding his gangly body into the chair with practised ease, and beckoned them to join him.

After a moment’s hesitation, they approached and took seats; Caleb sitting very upright and proper, legs at ninety degrees, back straight, and Nott clambering up onto the seat so she could crouch on top, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. 

The strange, pink-haired man handed them their cups silently, stirring his own with a little wooden spoon. Nott reached out from within her cocoon of rags and placed about ten spoonfuls of sugar in her tea before turning away so she could pull her scarf down and drink it, hissing from the heat. Caleb was more careful, precisely pouring out milk and measuring exactly half a teaspoon of sugar, but he chose to cradle the cup in his hands for warmth rather than drink from it right away. It had been a while since he’d had a hot drink, and this tea smelled good, earthy and floral at the same time. Even that was enough to ease some of the ever-present tension in his chest. He wanted to savour it.

“So.” The man’s voice was a lot deeper than either of them had been expecting when they’d first seen him; he sounded like someone who gave out wise advice at the top of a mountain. “Friends. You have come. What can I do for you? How can I help?”

“Um, well…” Caleb cleared his throat and clutched the cup in his hands a little tighter. “My name is Caleb Widogast, and this is Nott. Nott the Brave.” He gestured towards her, and she flinched but didn’t look around.

“Huh. Are you brave, Nott?” asked the man. He didn’t sound like he was mocking her in the least, but was genuinely curious. 

“I can be.” She hunched up smaller on top of her chair.

“We were given directions leading us here,” Caleb explained, bringing them back to the topic at hand. “Someone came to our tent and said you could offer us a warm bed for the night.”

“That I can.” He scratched at the shaved side of his head, watching them both intently. “People usually come here when they need something, and I’m here to provide. We’ve got some rooms upstairs, a couple of showers, might be some stuff in the donation box if you want.” He glanced down at Caleb’s gloves, which left his fingers exposed and were pretty threadbare besides.

Caleb sipped his tea, feeling almost stripped bare under the intensity of the man’s gaze. His eyes were a strange colour that he couldn’t quite pinpoint under all the flickering fairy lights. “This is a nice building. Do you, uh, do you have a lot of room here? A lot of people, here?”

“Folks come and go,” he said, shrugging. “Clay House is always here if they need it.”

Nott suddenly swung her head around like an owl to stare at him. “Are you Clay? Is it your house?”

“Caduceus Clay,” he clarified gently. “It’s my family's house. We used to run it together, but they’ve all kind of...drifted away now. Other things to do. I have a couple volunteers coming round, but not often. There’s this one lady, Nila, she’s real nice, does crafts with bags and things that smell good. Sometimes she brings her partner and her son over.” If he noticed Nott shrivelling up inside her rag pile, he didn’t say anything. “It’s good to have people here; the house feels weird when it’s empty.” 

“Then, would you allow us to stay here, Mr Clay?” Caleb took another sip, timing it perfectly with another hacking cough that sent tea spraying through the air. His body crumpled up and he wheezed, feeling like an impossible weight was crushing his chest. He dropped his cup and it spun slowly over the tabletop, sloshing tea all over the place.

Nott, alarmed, rushed to his side to help, but Caduceus got there first; he reached across to pat Caleb on the back, rubbing his hand in soothing circles. “You’re good, Mr Caleb, you’re okay,” he repeated, over and over like a meditative chant. He frowned at Nott. “Does this happen often?” 

“When it’s really cold,” Nott said, wringing her hands. “And he doesn’t eat as much as he should, and he sleeps with a string on his finger so he’s always waking up -”

“I’m not sure I understand what that means,” Caduceus said, “but I can help with the cough. I’ve got a little something.” He got to his feet, towering over the both of them, and wandered off up the narrow staircase.

Caleb slumped down on the table, resting his head on his folded arms. The sleeves of his coat were growing damper by the second, but he didn’t notice or care. “I wasted the tea,” he groaned.

Nott leaned against him and patted his thigh reassuringly, but whatever she’d been about to say was interrupted by the sound of someone singing ‘Winter Wonderland’ at the top of their lungs. It wasn’t bad, per se, just _ loud_.

“Caduuuuuuuuuuceus! We’re back!” The singer burst through the door; a young woman wearing a dark blue woolly hat and a dress with layers and layers of skirts. 

Behind her, grumbling and nudging each other, came a tall man with scraggly black and white hair, a brown leather jacket, and a red scarf whose length rivalled Caleb’s own, and a slim but muscular dark-skinned woman whose entire outfit was different shades of blue. Bizarrely, despite the temperature outside, she was wearing a sleeveless puffer jacket. Both of them were carrying cardboard boxes.

The singing girl was still talking, dancing her way into the room. Under the fairy lights, her blue hat sparkled with glitter. “Beau found more decorations in the bins behind the big supermarket and they must have been thrown out because some of them are broken but most of them are still good and maybe...oh. Hello!” She waved at Caleb and Nott and bounded over like an excitable puppy to introduce herself.


	2. Say hello to friends you know and everyone you meet

**It took a sharp nudge in the ribs from Nott for Caleb to realise he was staring** . And no wonder; this girl was _ a lot _. Caleb felt himself shrinking inside his coat as she approached in a flurry of blue and pink and fluffy gloves and laughing eyes. Now he was able to get a closer look, he realised what he’d first taken to be quite an expensive dress was actually stained and patched all over the place, giving her the overall impression of a fancy doll who’d been left out in the rain. He gave her a nervous smile, but wrapped his arms around his chest and clamped his hands in his armpits.

Nott, on the other hand, was fascinated. Though she stuck close to Caleb’s side and kept one hand resting on his leg, not wanting to be too exposed, her eyes were wide and round with interest. She liked the sparkles in the girl’s hat and her gloves, and that even though she was obviously curious about Nott’s covered face she was trying not to stare. And if she happened to have an interesting shiny thing hanging from her belt, well, that was a different matter entirely. 

The girl looked between the two of them carefully. “You should take a bath. You know they have showers here. It’s possible,” she said to Caleb. 

“A what now?” He blinked up at her. 

She gestured upstairs, towards where Caduceus had wandered off. “You bathe yourself in water.”

“Um…” He glanced at Nott as if to check whether he was missing some linguistic cue. “No, I’ve bathed before, ja, I...know what a bath is.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s because you smell really bad, and it’s wafting over this direction. I’m just letting you know. I would hate if I smelled that bad and someone didn’t tell me.”

Caleb opened his mouth, but for a long moment no sound came out except his quiet, wheezy breathing. “I have only just met you,” he said eventually, sounding small.

“Hi! I’m Jester.” Jester stuck out her hand for him to shake. 

“Hi,” he said, reaching out and clutching her fingers weakly. “I’m...Caleb.”

“And who’s this little lady?” The tall man with the black-and-white hair approached them and set his box down onto the table, much to the delight of Jester who immediately started rummaging through and pulling out Christmas decorations, then crouched down to look at Nott and smiled pleasantly. He had a strange accent, with a sort of cowboy twang. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Nott,” she grumbled, crossing her arms and glaring at him through the veil of her unwashed hair. “And I’m not a child!” 

“Leave her alone, Fjord.” The other girl wandered over and dumped her own box on the floor. “They’ve got their own shit going on. What’s your deal?” She slouched to one side, resting her weight on one leg, and crossed her bare arms over her chest in a pose that almost mimicked Nott’s. Her blue eyes were cool and piercing as she looked the two of them over, even as the rest of her face was set into a carefully sculpted expression of indifference.

Standing up beside her, Fjord spluttered in protest. “Wha -? You just said -”

“Yeah, but you were being all weird and patronising and shit. Kids don’t like being talked down to.” She nudged him sharply with her elbow.

“Beau!” He rubbed his arm. “I wasn’t - and what do you know about kids? Were you ever even a kid, or did you just sprout from the earth all mean and surly one day?”

“I’m not a child!” Nott declared again, stomping past Caleb as loudly as she could and drawing herself up to her full height in front of Fjord. “And _ you _, bastard man…”

Their three voices mingled in a haze of bickering that Jester managed to completely ignore as she methodically sorted through the cardboard boxes and lined up the prettiest, most intact baubles and trinkets in a row along the table, away from the still-damp patch where the tea had been spilt. There were a few dented decorations here and there, but all of the ones she chose would do for hanging around the room - except maybe the pink glittery one, which she might just keep for herself. She’d hang it off her belt, or on her bedpost, or maybe tie it onto her hat - she hadn’t decided yet.

She was humming a little tune and looking around the large room, mentally placing each decoration on the walls, when her eyes finally landed on Caleb. He was leaning forward, bracing his hands on his shaky knees, stuck in the midst of another terrible coughing fit.

“Ohmygosh!” Jester scrambled towards him, scattering the baubles in all directions. “Are you okay?”

Unable to speak, Caleb could only stare at her with red and watery eyes and flail one hand behind him. Thankfully, Jester understood, and immediately thumped him on the back as hard as she was able. The sound was enough to catch the others’ attention; Nott cried out in shock and darted back to Caleb’s side. “What did you do?” she screeched.

“I didn’t do anything!” Jester’s threw up her hands in surrender. “I mean he was just coughing, and it was really bad, and I’m a really good nurse so I thought I could help -”

Caleb lifted a finger. “It’s...alright, Schatz,” he spluttered. “Do not...be mad at her.”

Jester, pouting, backed away and sat down gracelessly at the table, joined by Fjord and Beau. An awkward silence settled over the room as Nott fussed over Caleb, tutting and hovering and adjusting his coat while he tried to fend her off. Eventually, she pulled away and clambered back up onto her chair, and the two of them turned away from the rest to huddle together by themselves.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Jester mumbled. She was staring at the damp table, eyes wide and cheeks flushed pink with shame, fiddling with her gloves. Beside her, Fjord placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“You were just trying to help, Jes.” Beau cleared her throat sharply and raised her voice so it carried across the room. “So hey, again, what’s your deal? You sick? You all contagious and shit?” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards Caleb’s hunched form. She grunted when Fjord returned the favour and jabbed her with his own elbow. “The fuck, man? You gotta ask these things, I don’t wanna get sick. What if he dies, you wanna sleep under the same roof as a dead guy? What if it’s a ruse, and they just want us to get close so they can rob us and take all our shit?” She narrowed her eyes at Nott.

Fjord looked perplexed. “You could be right,” he conceded, “though we don’t really have a lot.”

“We have all of these!” Jester cried, her arms once again filled with Christmas decorations. “They can’t take these - you wouldn’t take these, would you?” She whirled around, shedding glitter and tinsel scraps all over the floor.

“I mean…” Nott’s eyes were fixed on the shininess. “They’re really cool, but they’re not the kind of thing I collect...”

“Oh! You collect things?” In spite of her companions’ protests, Jester got up and rushed over to Nott and Caleb’s side of the table. She knelt on the floor with her threadbare skirts spread out around her like dull flower petals. “What things?”

Nott looked away for a long time, but eventually, the proximity and overwhelming positivity of Jester’s presence encouraged her to rummage inside her rag bundle and produce a small selection of buttons, all different sizes and colours, in the palm of her hand. “Mostly these,” she said shyly. “And sometimes sticks, and coins, but I don’t do coins anymore because we need them for...food and stuff. And I can’t make them like Caleb can.”

Jester froze in the midst of holding a pearlescent green button up to the light. “Wait. _ Whoa _ . Stop right there! Caleb can make _ money _?”

“He can! He does _ magic _,” Nott whispered. The two of them leaned closer together like co-conspirators, and just like that, they were on the same team. “He’s so clever, he can do all sorts of tricks, we have a big list -”

“I can hear you whispering,” Caleb said hoarsely. He opened his eyes and gave Jester a bland smile. “It is not as, uh, impressive as she makes it sound.” He reached into one of his many coat pockets and pulled out a slightly tarnished penny, beckoning Jester to hold out her hand. He placed the penny in her palm and closed her fingers around it. “We do it in your hand, ja, so you cannot say I cheated. Alright, so, I will snap my fingers, and…” He did so, then opened Jester’s hand. 

The penny was now a silver piece. 

“Oh...my...gosh!” Jester squeaked. “Ohmygoshohmygosh Caleeeb! That’s so cool! How do you do that?!” She picked up the coin and waved it above her head. “Fjord, look! He made it all silvery!”

Fjord’s eyebrows shot up. He floundered for a moment, then threw a winning smile on his face. “Oh, hey, uh, that’s very impressive. I wish I could do that.” He offered Caleb a thumbs up, which wasn’t returned. His smile drooped slightly. 

Beau snorted. “Yeah. If you could do that, we’d be living in a damn mansion instead of relying on the kindness of Caduceus.”

Thudding footsteps approached them, gradually growing louder and louder as Caduceus descended the creaky staircase. He was carrying a small tray, laden with cough syrup and a spoon, painkillers, a bottle of water, and a pack of lozenges. “Mr Caleb,” he announced in his quiet way, his voice never rising above easy-listening volume, “I brought you some stuff.”

“Speak of the devil,” Beau muttered as he passed her by. 

Caduceus approached Caleb slowly, as if he were a wounded animal. The smaller man had slumped forward once again in his chair, his chin resting on his chest and his arms hanging loosely at his side. He was barely moving.

“Mr Caleb, can you look at me?” asked Caduceus, setting the tray on the table. He leaned down from his great height and frowned. “Mr Caleb?”

Nott, hearing the note of concern in Caduceus’s voice, paused in the act of counting her buttons back into her pocket and looked up nervously. 

“Did he die?” Beau hissed in Fjord’s ear, nudging him incessantly. He pushed her away, but she didn’t stop. “Did he just do a magic trick then fucking die?”

“He’s alive.” Caduceus’s hand dwarfed Caleb’s face as he prodded him gently, feeling his forehead, checking his neck for a pulse. There was some swelling around his throat, and his skin was warm to the touch - too warm. “Alive, but very unwell. Nott, how long has he been like this?” He gazed down at her with all the steadfastness of a large, old tree.

Nott squirmed a little under his penetrating stare. She knew that he probably wasn’t going to hurt her, but it certainly felt like he was accusing her of something. Her eyes flickered to Caleb, and she swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. They’d come here so he could get out of the cold and maybe even get some treatment. This was what her boy needed.

He needed her to be brave, and sometimes that meant asking for help.

“Can you do something?” Her voice squeaked around the lump that had risen in her throat, and she found she was suddenly fighting back tears. “He’s been this way for a while, and we’ve tried to get help but...nobody wants to.”

“I want to,” Caduceus assured her with a little smile. He blinked for the first time in what felt like forever, and behind his eyes, Nott could see the cogs starting to turn in his mind.

“Me too!” Jester appeared behind her and gently turned her around so they were facing each other. She was smiling wide, and all her glittery accoutrements under the Christmas lights made her seem like a beautiful shining fairy godmother. It made Nott feel much better. “Don’t be sad, Nott, we’ll fix him! I’m a _ really _ good nurse.”

Caleb shifted suddenly, groaning and lifting his head to look at the row of worried faces before him. “Was ist...what is going on? Was I sleeping?” He wrapped his arms around himself again, fingers twitching as if to scratch at some phantom wound.

“Caleb!” Nott ran to him and hugged his legs, then smacked him on the knee. “You scared me,” she said reproachfully.

“Forgive me, Schatz.” Caleb coughed again, so hard his whole body jerked in the chair. 

“Okay, we’re gonna get you upstairs and in bed,” Caduceus proclaimed, leaving no room for argument. He tucked one huge hand under Caleb’s elbow and helped him to his feet. “Can you walk, Mr Caleb? Jester, can you carry the tray?”

“Uh-huh!” Jester cried, rushing to the table at the same time as Caleb firmly refused any help and insisted he could get up by himself. 

He took a couple of steps, wobbled, then pitched forward into what would have been a perfect pratfall if Caduceus hadn’t caught him and scooped him up into a bridal carry. It happened so quickly and smoothly, it might have been choreographed.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” said Beau, watching the strange procession of Caduceus, Jester, and Nott disappear up the stairs.


	3. This is that time of the year, a tinselly glittery time

**Jester couldn’t sleep, not with her empty stomach and Beau’s snores burbling a loud duet. ** She tossed and turned, pummelled her pillows into submission, counted unicorns, sent imaginary messages to her mama...nothing worked. She was more awake than ever.

With a huff, she threw back her covers and sat up. There was only one thing to do; she needed something sweet.

She crept across the room to the little shelf where she kept her things, underneath which were her boots. They were still a bit dirty from her bin adventure earlier that day, so she gave them a shake before pulling them on, wobbling and hopping from foot to foot with her tongue stuck out in concentration. Then, she pulled the topmost blanket off her bed and threw it around her shoulders like a cloak over her nightie before sneaking out of the room.

The hallway was dimly lit by the dots of soft green glow-in-the-dark paint that trailed along the walls, floor, and ceiling. They reminded Jester of little glow worms, or some kind of weird fluorescent fungus. Caduceus had put them there to save electricity and also to make it easier for anyone to move around at night, to leave the house if they didn’t feel comfortable, or get something they needed without disturbing anyone else by turning the lights on. He was thoughtful that way.

She tiptoed past Fjord’s room, pausing for a moment to listen at the door. He was mumbling, grunting, talking in his sleep again. She hoped he wasn’t having another one of his bad dreams - he hadn’t had one of those for ages, she thought they’d stopped. Her mouth twisted in worry, but she didn’t want to wake him, so she carried on down the hall. Maybe they could talk about it in the morning if he wanted to.

The door next to Fjord’s was slightly ajar. Jester paused at peeked inside, just able to make out a skinny shape curled up on the bed. It was Caleb - she could hear him snoring. Next to him, a bundle of rags that she assumed to be Nott was perched on a small chair. She was glad to see he was sleeping okay, and had some company. Nott seemed sweet if a little feral. Very protective.

As she watched, Caleb rolled over onto his back and muttered something in another language.  _ Something something Astrid _ , it sounded like. Was that a name? She bit her lip; maybe she shouldn’t have heard that...

She pulled the door to and crept towards the staircase. About halfway down, she gripped the bannisters on both sides and braced herself, lifting her feet up so she could slide down the rest of the way. She landed with only a slight stumble, which she managed to turn into a pirouette at the last second before curtseying to her imaginary audience.

It was almost pitch black downstairs, but Jester knew her way well enough to get around without hitting any of the furniture. She crept towards the kitchen, weaving between the tables with graceful single-mindedness as she thought about the sweet treats in the high cupboard next to the microwave. Caduceus wouldn’t be doing the shopping for another couple of days, but she was pretty sure there were still some cookies in there. Maybe even a couple of doughnuts. With sprinkles!

Somewhere in the kitchen, a pan clattered loudly onto the floor, followed by the sound of scampering feet. Jester froze. “Hello?”

There was no response. Maybe it wasn’t a person, maybe it was an animal? It could be something really cute like a weasel or a hamster or - no, it was going to be something gross, a giant rat with yellow eyes and sharp teeth and claws, or a really really  _ really _ big spider. And here she was, no weapon or anything. Caduceus always kept things that had a blade locked away, and even if she had a key to the drawer, she’d have to go into the kitchen first anyway.

Ooh! Unless...she untied her blanket cape. If she was really quiet and sneaky, she could maybe grab whatever it was and bundle it up in the blanket before it tried to bite her. That would be  _ really  _ cool. She’d be like a hero or whatever.

She took a deep breath, put on her meanest face, and walked determinedly towards the kitchen entrance with her blanket, ready to pounce. She couldn’t see any movement, but she knew where the pans were kept from helping Caduceus make dinner in the past, so she went that way first.

Jester shivered a little, grateful that she’d put her boots on to protect her feet from the cold tiles; without the oven on, the kitchen was a lot chillier. And that was totally the only reason she was shivering. She wasn’t afraid or anything. It wasn’t creepy, being all alone down here in a dark kitchen with a giant horrible creature that wanted to steal her pastries…

More footsteps rushed past behind her. Jester whirled around and leapt forward without looking, landing in a heap on the kitchen floor with a loud thump. She realised a moment later that she was screaming, her voice mingling with the high-pitched screech of whatever was trapped underneath the blanket. 

“Let me go! I have a right to be here, you bastards, get off me or I’ll -”

“Nott?” Jester gasped and scrambled back, throwing the blanket aside to reveal the small, hunched figure underneath. “Oh Nott, I’m so sorry! I thought you were, like, a big rat or something…”

“Wow. Thanks.” Nott crossed her arms and splayed her legs out in a huff. 

“Only because you were supposed to be upstairs with Caleb!” said Jester indignantly. “There was this pile of stuff on the chair next to his bed so I thought it was you, I didn’t know you were down here!” She looked at Nott and realised she was seeing her out of the rag bundle for the first time. Although the kitchen was dark and she still wore a scarf over the bottom of her face, Jester noticed her dark hair was loose, and without the many layers of blankets she had a small and slender figure. “Why  _ are _ you down here?”

“Looking for booze.” Nott stood up and brushed herself down - it was an empty gesture, really, that did nothing for her dirty clothes. “Do you know where it is?”

Jester bit her lip. “There isn’t any. Caduceus says Clay House is a teetotal establishment.” When she saw the sudden, blind fury in Nott’s eyes, she held up her hands with a nervous laugh. “I mean I used to think it meant that they  _ only _ had tea here, which would be silly, right? But there’s lots of other stuff, they have water and juice and milk and coffee and cocoa. I could make you something?”

Nott spent a long time thinking this over, glaring firmly at the floor tiles with her hands curled into tiny fists. Eventually, her shoulders sank and she gave a loud sigh. “I suppose…that would be nice.”

“Great!” Jester leapt to her feet and moved to turn the kitchen lights on, then hesitated when she noticed Nott automatically reaching to cover her eyes. “Hey, do you...um...do you want me to leave them off?”

Nott stared at her in trepidation, all her rage having fizzled out to leave her just standing small and scared in the middle of the kitchen. “Is that alright?”

“Of course!” Smiling, Jester reached down and gave Nott’s shoulder a squeeze. “I know where everything is, and I can basically see in the dark so it’s fine. Come on!” She ran towards the fridge.

“You...what?” Nott called out, but Jester already had her head buried inside the fridge, looking for milk, and didn’t hear her. 

“Can you get a little pan?” she asked, straightening up with a carton of milk and a can of squirty cream clutched in her hands. “Look in the cupboard next to the stove.” She rushed off again before Nott could reply.

Making cocoa, usually a fairly basic practice, became much more interesting when Jester was involved. She found them each an apron, set Nott up with a folding stool so they could stand side-by-side in front of the stove, then took on the task of heating and whisking the milk while Nott carefully measured out the cocoa powder into a bowl. All the while, she kept up a constant stream of chatter about anything and everything she could think of; where she came from, how long she’d been staying at Clay House, what her favourite kinds of pastries were and how she hadn’t been able to find any that were made with cinnamon like the ones back home since coming here... Even if Nott had been so inclined as to share any information about herself, she most likely wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgeways. 

“And then one night I heard this guy talking to my mama,” she was saying, “and he was being, like,  _ really _ nasty, yelling at her and calling her all sorts of names and stuff.”

“He sounds mean.” Nott lifted her bowl and slowly tipped the cocoa powder into the saucepan.

“ _ So _ mean!” Jester continued to whisk, deliberately not looking at Nott as she could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks. “So…I might have taken some photos of him while he wasn’t wearing a lot, and I might have sent them to a certain newspaper…”

“Jester!” Nott gaped at her. “You didn’t!”

She shrugged. “I had to! He was being a total dick to my mama. But then she sent me away. My mama knows a lot of, like, super fancy people because of her job and it wasn’t like I’d never met anyone before like that, you know? But this guy was, like, high up in the government or something, and she was worried about what might happen if he found out it was me.” Her breath hitched, and she busied herself with the cocoa until she was almost in danger of whisking her way through the bottom of the pan. “Can you please get some mugs? They’re by the sink.”

Nott frowned, concerned. “Sure, sure.” She scuttled off into the dark kitchen.

Jester moved the saucepan off the heat and bit her lip as hard as she could. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. Yes, it was hard to be away from her mama in a weird city, at  _ Christmas _ of all times, but she could make the best of it, right? She had Clay House and all the pretty decorations, and Fjord and Beau, and Caduceus, and now even Nott and Caleb! Well, Caleb would definitely need to have a bath before they hung out again. Maybe she could even try and find him something better to wear from the donation boxes - that would be nice, and it could help take her mind off things she’d rather not think about for too long.

“I got mugs!” Nott cried, appearing from the shadows with a pink mug clutched in each hand and waving them triumphantly above her head. Her arms dropped a little when she noticed Jester’s dejected posture. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” Jester quickly wiped her eyes and turned around with a big smile on her face. “Bring them here, then we can get to the good part.”

They poured out two extra-full mugs of cocoa without speaking, then carefully carried them into the main downstairs space and sat on one of the sagging couches. Nott’s feet dangled at least six inches above the floor as she cradled her mug in her lap like a warm ceramic kitten. She didn’t drink from it, keeping her scarf covering her face and instead watching Jester work out exactly the right angle to hold the can of squirty cream so she could make a perfect swirling mountain on top of her own mug.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she began, once Jester was nose-deep in cream and settled back against the faded sofa cushions, “is your name actually Jester? Your mother named you Jester?”

Jester mumbled something into her drink, then surfaced with a gasp like a dying man sporting a moustache made of cream. She licked her lips very thoroughly before speaking. “I named me Jester. Mama gave me a name when I was born,  _ obviously _ , but it didn’t really feel like me, you know? So I picked a different one.”

Nott shifted in her seat. “But aren’t you worried you might get found out, that the guy you humiliated might find you here? It’s a very...unique name.”

She shrugged. “Nobody knows me here, I mean apart from Fjord and Beau and Caduceus and now you and Caleb and sometimes Yasha...but everyone else, well, if someone ever asks besides one of you guys, I could just say, like, Jessie, or Shirley, or Fiona McFancyPants or whatever. Nobody really cares what the girl begging on the corner’s name is, anyway.”

“That’s true.” Nott nodded solemnly. “It can be...quite freeing, if nobody knows who you are, but then also…” She turned her face away, towards the little Christmas tree, and took a long time to speak again. When she did, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Also, sometimes, it’s nice to be recognised.”

Jester looked at Nott, properly looked at her, and for the first time she actually noticed the sadness in that seemed to be threaded through every bone in her small body, weighing her down. Part of her wanted to ask about the scarf, why she wore it, if that had something to do with what she said about being recognised. She looked for a long, long time, letting her cocoa grow cold and the cream mountain subside into froth.

“You had a life before, too, didn’t you?” she whispered at last. “It wasn’t always like this.”

Nott sniffed loudly, then blew her nose and wiped her eyes on her scarf. It was a kind of gross, but Jester wouldn’t hold that against her. She reached out and patted her on the back, then glanced at the clock high up on the wall. An idea formed in her mind.

“It’s almost three,” she said, “but I don’t want to go back to bed. Do you?”

“I should...I should get back to Caleb.” Nott’s voice shook as much as her shoulders.

“You don’t have to,” Jester replied. “He’ll be fine, he definitely looked super sleepy when I peeked in on him, like he won’t wake up for ages, and if he does then Caduceus is up there. And what are you going to do, anyway, just sit on a chair and stare at him?”

Nott turned around slowly. Her eyes were shiny and rimmed with red. “What did you have in mind?”

Jester pointed past her, towards the two cardboard boxes that were still in the middle of the table where Beau and Fjord had dumped them, and grinned down at Nott with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Want to help me redecorate?”


	4. The sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow

**The first one downstairs the next morning, as per usual, was Caduceus. ** He reached the bottom of the staircase just as the sun crested the horizon, yawning hugely and stretching his arms above his head. The motion lifted his soft white sweater and exposed his midriff to the chilly morning air; he tugged it back down while blinking his way to being fully conscious.

His eyebrows shot up at the sight that greeted him.

Pinned, taped, or otherwise tied to what seemed like every available surface around the room, from the edges of the tables to the overhead lamps, were all the most intact baubles Jester had managed to salvage from the bins the day before. Scrawny strands of leftover tinsel framed the bookshelves, the kitchen counter, and the photoboard, and were wrapped around all the door handles. Every single one of the tables was somehow covered in glitter - where it had come from, he had no idea - and cut-out paper garlands adorned the walls. 

With the fairy lights twinkling overhead, the effect reminded Caduceus of that one time he’d mistakenly wandered into a pop-up Christmas store and been bombarded on all sides with sparkling fake snow and shiny plastic - in other words, way too much for his taste. He dropped his gaze and found it settling on the misshapen pile of Jester and Nott that was curled up on one of the couches, sleeping soundly underneath the blanket from Jester’s bed. 

The corners of his mouth quirked up slowly, like the gradual curve of a stream eroding its way across the earth. He wandered towards where the lights were plugged in and switched them off, leaving the room bathed only in the gentle light of the dawn, and made a mental note to speak to Jester about only having the lights on when people were able to respond if something happened to catch fire. Clay House’s wiring was not especially reliable.

Deep in her sleep, Nott grunted, catching his attention. He straightened up and looked towards her in time to see her wriggle free of the blanket, roll onto her back, and stick her arms and legs in the air like a cat. Her scarf had slipped, revealing a harsh tangle of scars that marred the lower half of her face, and her mouth was hanging open so he could see all her broken and missing teeth.

He frowned, perplexed, and moved closer. Curiosity made him want to ask what had happened to her, but wisdom and experience told him to leave it until she felt comfortable enough to bring it up, if ever. Rather than risk waking her by trying to adjust the scarf back over her face, he simply moved the blanket so it gently covered her mouth and nose. There was obviously a reason she’d kept it all hidden. He wouldn’t ask, for now.

He turned away from the sleeping pair and headed for the kitchen to start brewing the first tea of the day. He could go through the motions of filling the urn and switching it on with his eyes closed by this point, so he let his mind to wander and gazed out of the window over the garden, where the sunlight was just beginning to brush across the frosted grass. The sky was an ominous, solid, pale grey, threatening snow. 

The hot water would take about an hour to reach the ideal temperature for tea he could give to any wanderers that found their way into the house, so in the meantime he opened a cupboard and cast his eye over the top shelf. A selection of labelled boxes sat where only he could reach them, their organisational system a long-forgotten mystery. He inhaled, breathing in notes of mint, lavender, chamomile, jasmine, ginger, rosehip…

What did he want today? Nothing that would make him too relaxed; he was planning to look at the budget later and needed to keep a clear head, much as he didn’t want to. Numbers made his head spin. He found their shapes intimidating, how they seemed to wiggle and jumble together on the pages if he looked at them for too long. Potential garden-crushing snow storms were nothing compared to budgeting.

His mouth scrunched to one side. Green tea, he finally decided, to help him focus. He reached inside the cupboard and tapped his fingers along the tops of the boxes until he found what he was looking for.

Making tea for himself was very different to making it for everyone else - it took much longer, for one thing, and he had his own cup and teapot set fashioned from brown clay, a gift from one of his sisters for a long-ago birthday. It was something of a ritual for him, helping him find his footing at the beginning of each day no matter what might have happened the night before or what might be facing him in the hours ahead. 

The kettle on the stove began to whistle. He retrieved it and poured hot water over the strainer resting above his little teapot, humming a scrap of ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ as he did so. There was only a week to go until the big day. He needed to start planning for that too; buy all the food, print posters to spread around town about Christmas Day dinner, make sure all the available bedrooms were open and warm, and that there were plenty of blankets and hand-me-downs for people to take away. More things to add to the growing list in his mind. 

He put the kettle down and bent his head for a moment, breathing deep and slow until he felt the pulsing tension behind his eyes recede. Now was not the time to panic.

“Herr Clay?”

Caduceus turned around to see Caleb standing by the kitchen counter, his skinny frame wrapped up in a dark green dressing gown. It had belonged to Caduceus’s brother, once upon a time, and was far too big for him; the sleeves completely covered his hands, and the hem reached his ankles. He was glancing around the room like a cornered animal, checking for a means of escape, unable to keep eye contact for longer than a second or two.

“Mr Caleb.” Caduceus’s face broke into a wide smile. “Good morning. How’re you feeling?”

“I am…” Caleb paused, his next words lost in another cough. It still sounded horrible, but it actually wasn’t as bad as it had been the day before. “Warm. Ja. Much warmer, and I slept.” He sounded baffled by the very idea. “Where is Nott?”

Caduceus nodded towards the bundle of blankets and limbs on the couch. “Making friends, by the looks of things. I thought I’d leave them to it, they had a busy night.” He waved a hand around the room and Caleb followed the movement, noticing the bombardment of glittery festive cheer for apparently the first time.

“Mein Gott,” he murmured, eyes wide. Suddenly he paused and stared at one of the paper garlands on the opposite wall. “Are those...dicks?”

Caduceus poured tea for himself and approached the kitchen counter, following Caleb’s gaze. “Huh. Would you look at that. You want some tea? Breakfast?” He changed subjects so abruptly it was like conversational whiplash. 

“I’ll take some tea.” Caleb coughed again. “I would like to...to sit, over there, if that is alright.” He pointed to the bookshelves on the other side of the room. 

“Eh, sure. There isn’t a whole lot there, but you’re welcome to take a look.” Caduceus poured another cup of tea for Caleb and placed it on the counter, then went to the fridge for breakfast ingredients. On the whiteboard fixed to the fridge door were the words WE NEED CREAM, written in swirly handwriting that he recognised as Jester’s. Smiling, he opened the fridge and pulled out eggs, butter, spinach, and mushrooms for omelettes.

Across the room, Caleb managed to carry his tea towards what constituted Clay House’s ‘library’ without tripping on his borrowed dressing gown and spilling it on the floor, and he was counting that as a success. He glanced toward Nott on his way and contemplated waking her to join him, but he knew she needed sleep as much as he had. She just didn’t show it, choosing instead to keep going and going and going until she was far beyond the point of exhaustion. Also, the less time she was awake, the less time she spent worrying about him, which didn’t help either of them feel any better. He’d let her rest for at least a little while longer.

Very carefully, he knelt on the floor and placed his tea down next to him. The bookshelf in front of him was, as he’d suspected the previous evening, practically empty. Just a few tattered picture books and one or two volumes of recipes whose pages were stuck together. The other shelves weren’t much better. He tried unsuccessfully to quell the rising disappointment in his heart.

It had been a very long time since he’d been able to read a book.

“Yeah, they’re kinda shit, huh?” The angry girl without sleeves - what was her name? - Beau, had come downstairs and was leaning against the other bookshelf, stifling a yawn. This morning she wore a cropped grey tank top, blue workout pants, and no shoes. True, it was much warmer inside Clay House than out on the streets, but Caleb still didn’t understand how she could just wander around without at least wearing some socks. “You know, if you want books, there’s an actual library in town.”

“Really?” For the first time since he’d arrived there, Caleb smiled. It was only a little one, but a smile all the same. “That would be...I would very much like to see it.”

“You’re really not from round here, are you?” Beau cocked her head to one side like a bird and peered at him inquisitively. “It’s just a library, man. I mean, Dairon, who runs it, they’re pretty cool, and there’s like coffee and stuff if you don’t spill it on the books, and I mean, it’s a warm place to spend the day before coming back here.” She shrugged. “But it’s just, like, a library.”

“It is more than I have had access to for a while.” Caleb slowly got to his feet, his aching knees creaking and complaining. “Would you be able to take me there?”

Beau crossed her arms, the pose emphasising the fact she had bigger arm muscles than Caleb had ever come close to in his life. “Dunno. You gonna be weird about it?”

Caleb shook his head hurriedly. “I will be on my best behaviour. And I know I am supposed to be...recovering today, but I think a short walk to another warm place I can stay will be fine, ja?”

Frowning, Beau looked him up and down, and her expression softened very slightly. “Look man, I’m…” She sighed, and shifted her weight onto her other leg. “I’m sorry I was an asshole yesterday. You’re sick, you don’t need that shit, it’s just. Well.”

For a moment, she fell silent. Caleb waited patiently.

“It’s just that we’ve got fuck all here, right, and we spent the whole afternoon dumpster-diving for Christmas decorations for Jester and that kind of sucked, it was fucking freezing and gross. And she was right, you guys smelled really bad and you looked kinda weird and I was just in a shitty mood anyway, so I might have been...kinda...abrupt.” The words exploded from her mouth in a rapid torrent, then she let all her remaining breath out in one long gasp. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

Caleb watched her unblinking, like a cat, and when he finally decided she wasn’t going to say anything else he took a sip of his cooling tea. There was a tickle threatening his throat, but he was used to it by now and swallowed it down - it already felt easier than it had yesterday. “So...we are going to the library, ja?”

All the awkward compassion instantly melted from Beau’s features, leaving them sharp and brittle and fixed into what was beginning to seem like her customary scowl. “God, fuck, yes! Fine!” She threw up her hands and turned on the spot, heading for the stairs. “We’ll go to the fucking library. Bring your little friend too, whatever.”

Smiling slightly, Caleb shuffled across the room to wake up Nott in time for breakfast.


	5. Still waiting for the snow to fall, it doesn't really feel like Christmas at all

**With only a week until Christmas Day the streets were as busy as ever**. The hands on the clock face in the town square had just passed one, it was absolutely freezing with clouds threatening to pelt the town with snow at any moment, and every single person who rushed past was ignoring everyone else in their single-minded mission to get their shopping done.

_ So much for the season of giving _, thought Fjord, glancing forlornly down at the hat by his feet. There were a few coins in there, barely enough for a sandwich, let alone any sort of hot food. He looked over at Jester, who was sat cross-legged on a piece of damp cardboard beside him, wearing her bedraggled blue coat and with his red scarf wrapped around her face. Her eyebrows were angled into a sulky frown, and she had her hands tucked inside her coat sleeves.

He cleared his throat and licked his dry lips, trying to hold back the shivers. “Y’alright there, Jessie?” he asked.

“No,” she mumbled, miffed, and pulled the scarf away from her mouth. “This sucks, Fjord. We’ve been out here for _ hours _ and nobody gives a shit because they’re all in such a hurry! I thought people were meant to be nice at Christmas. Also - ” she leaned towards him “ - I’m pretty sure my butt’s gone numb.” 

She sounded so terribly sad at this realisation, Fjord put his arm around her and pulled her close. “You wanna go somewhere else?” He fished what few coins they had from the hat and did some quick mental arithmetic. “We could get a coffee and share it. No pastries or anything, but at least it might warm up your butt.”

Jester snorted with laughter and nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “You want to save my butt, huh? My hero.” She grinned, and Fjord couldn’t help but grin back. It was nice to see her smile, and even nicer when he was the reason.

“It’s worth saving,” he said, then immediately felt his face flush crimson. Any more words he might have been about to say got stuck in his throat. “I mean, uh...you...shouldn’t be cold. Is all.” He glanced away and silently berated himself. Why did he always get so tongue-tied at the stupidest moments when he was talking to her? Sometimes he could be all suave and cool and impress her without even trying, then when he actually wanted to pay her a genuine compliment, he either forgot what words were or had his mouth run away with him. He groaned.

“Say we had loads more coins.” Jester changed the subject suddenly, picking up and toying with the now empty hat. “I mean, money no object. What would you want to eat right now?”

“Um…” Fjord turned back to look at her, just in time to catch the delicate flush of pink that coloured her cheeks like candy-floss clouds across a pale dawn sky. Was that because of him? He didn’t want to ask in case he made a fool of himself again. “I guess...Fish and chips. With lots of salt and vinegar, and ketchup. Peas. Bread and butter. And a fucking huge cup of tea.” He smiled. “How about you?”

“Oh, you know, pastries probably,” Jester replied airily. “Doughnuts, and like, the flaky ones with cinnamon and custard, and loads of icing, and then a _ really big _ chocolate cake!” When she noticed Fjord’s raised eyebrows, she rolled her eyes and tutted. “And some vegetables, or whatever.”

Fjord chuckled. “You could have carrot cake. That’s got vegetables, _ and _ cinnamon. Win-win.”

“Sounds delicious,” said a voice nearby.

Both of them jumped, and Fjord’s blood turned to ice. He felt his hands curl involuntarily into fists, his fingernails cutting into his palms, and watched as Jester’s smile froze in place like the mouth of a painted doll. His heart was suddenly pounding so fast and loud that it was blocking out all other noise - if she said anything, he didn’t hear it, instead occupied by the rushing of blood in his ears and the sound of those two simple words which had brought back so many things he’d rather forget, in such a short space of time. 

He swallowed hard and forced himself to relax his shoulders and look up at the speaker, even though he knew exactly who would be standing there.

“Avantika. Hey. You’re looking...good.”

She was, standing tall and elegant against a background of the pale grey sky, the looming threat of the clouds echoed in her self-satisfied posture. She was wearing tight jeans, brown stiletto-heeled boots that weren’t at all suited for the state of the weather, a burgundy coat that hung open to reveal her rather impressive bosom covered with a clinging white sweater, and a pale turquoise scarf encircling her neck. Her auburn curls were loose and flowed across her shoulders and down her back. She raised an eyebrow in that way she always did, like he’d said something amusing, and lifted her right hand in a playful little wave that offered a glimpse of the eye tattoo on her palm. “Fjord. It has been a while.”

Fjord reached up to try and self-consciously flatten his wind-tousled hair. He wished fervently that he wasn’t curled up on the ground; it felt like he was one wrong step away from her pressing the heel of her boot to his neck. She’d always intimidated him, though he couldn’t deny some part of him found her a little thrilling, like looking over the edge of a cliff and seeing the ground from very far away. “Yeah...how’ve you been? What brings you to the city?”

“Nothing much,” she purred. “I have a couple of things brewing. Otherwise, just thought I’d see the sights.” She levelled her gaze at him like a lioness stalking her prey. He gulped, feeling the blush creep up his neck once more. Suddenly, he was finding it very hard to look at anything but her mouth.

“Ah-_ hem _.” Next to him, Jester was scowling with her arms crossed. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Avantika Capitaine.” She grinned wider - it might have been friendly if she hadn’t been baring her teeth - and mimicked Jester’s pose, crossing her own arms over her chest in a way that emphasised her shapely figure. “And who are you, little girl?”

Jester hissed and clambered to her feet, planting her boots and throwing the hat to the ground. Though she was several inches shorter and much tattier than this interloper in impractical shoes, she balled her fists and scowled with as much malice as she could muster. “I’m -”

“_ Sapphire _ ,” Fjord blurted out. He quietly reached towards her and curled his fingers around her ankle, a silent gesture of _ don’t be stupid, don’t say anything, I’ll explain later _. “Don’t worry about it. She’s just leaving.” He looked back to Avantika, who was gazing at the point where his hand touched Jester’s leg with a curious expression. 

“Sure.” She tossed her hair and took her time buttoning the front of her coat, then reached into a pocket and bent forward to drop some money on top of the discarded hat. It was more, much more, than they’d made in the last week. “I’ll see you around, Fjord.” 

Once she’d sashayed away from them and disappeared into the bustling crowds, Jester rounded on him instead, and he wished once more that he was standing up instead of having a fierce young woman bearing down on him. “What the hell? Who was that? Why wouldn’t you let me -”

“Jessie.” He held up one hand, scooping up Avantika’s money with the other. He didn’t particularly enjoy taking handouts from people he knew, but money was money, and his freezing cold extremities were protesting louder than his sense of shame. “Coffee first.”

“And cake,” Jester grumbled.

“Okay, fine, and cake.” Fjord stood up at last and pocketed the cash in his hands. “Come on.”

They ducked and weaved through the high street lunchtime rush until they finally found a brief respite on the doorstep of a small cafe, which despite it still being around lunchtime was surprisingly empty. When Jester pushed open the door and stepped inside, the bacon-sugar-and-coffee-scented air that greeted them both was delightfully warm, like sinking into a bathtub of silky-hot water. Fjord’s fingers and toes began to tingle at the sudden heat.

Jester immediately snagged a little table by a window and picked up one of the large, laminated menus, big enough for her to hide behind as she perused the dessert list. Fjord sat down opposite her, and realised with sudden dismay that one of his chair’s legs was shorter than the rest of them. He tried to balance himself while staring at the specials menu that was hanging above the counter, at the large man with curly hair who was wiping down the coffee machine, at the festive garlands of holly bordering the ceiling, at the fake snow sprayed on the windows. Anywhere but at Jester.

What the hell was he supposed to say to her? She knew a little bit about his time before coming to the city, but even then it was only a vague sort of overview, and he knew for sure he’d never mentioned any names, or past relationships. He’d worked very hard to push it all away and never think of it again.

The dreams didn’t count. He couldn’t control those, unfortunately. 

Jester suddenly smacked her menu down on the table and folded her hands on top of it. “I’ve decided,” she said, with a sweet little smile that did nothing to hide the determination in her eyes. Purchasing cake was something she took extremely seriously. 

“Oh, yeah?” he hedged, gazing at a spot somewhere in the middle of Jester’s forehead. Her smile flickered for just a moment, barely enough for him to notice, and he suddenly realised that she wasn’t actually angry with him; he was being all cagey, avoiding any sort of conversation in case she asked about what had just happened with Avantika, and it was hurting her feelings.

He forced himself to look her in the eye. “I’m not sure what I want. Maybe you could pick for me?”

She beamed, her smile returning in full force. Under warm golden cafe lights that made her hat glimmer softly and highlighted spots of pink in her cheeks, all her edges were softened and smudged like she was a watercolour painting. The cold grey view of the high street through the window beside her, where it already seemed to be getting dark despite not even being two o'clock, lit her up even brighter by contrast. He swallowed hard. 

“Well, hey there.” The curly-haired man, presumably the owner, had approached their table holding a notebook and pen that were dwarfed by his enormous hands. “Thanks for coming in, friends. What can I getcha?”

Jester straightened up in her seat and cleared her throat. “I will have the biggest mug of hot chocolate you have,” she said confidently, “and a big doughnut with sprinkles, but if you don’t have that I’ll have some red velvet cake, and if you don’t have _ that _ I’ll have a cinnamon roll.” 

Fjord stared at her. “I thought you said you’d decided?”

“I diiiiid, but then I was thinking about it a little more and there are _ so _ many tasty things on here and I _ am _ really hungry…” She bit her lip and started picking absently at the threadbare edges of her skirt. “But we should save our money, right?” 

What was it that made her such a sympathetic figure, when he knew damn well how strong and capable she was? Fjord wanted to give her everything, right then, take care of her, spend every single penny of dirty Avantika money on all the cakes and pastries it could afford. He looked up at the cafe owner and gave him a winning smile. “Could you do like a...sampler? A bit of everything?”

The cafe owner raised his eyebrows slowly, in a manner that reminded Fjord a little of Caduceus, but then a moment later he smiled. “Eh, sure. Haven’t had many customers today. Some-a this stuff’s already kinda stale, have to throw it out later. Should still be good eatin’, though.”

“Really?!” Jester squeaked as though she hardly dared to believe it.

“Eh, sure,” said the owner again. “It’s Christmas, huh?” He shuffled away behind the counter, whistling a tune.

“Fjord! How did you do that?” Jester’s mouth was agape, her eyes wide. “Why did you do that? Can we even pay for that?”

“Course we can,” he replied, only lying a tiny bit. “Avant - she gave us, uh, actually quite a bit of cash. Likes to make her power moves.” He flushed and looked down at the tabletop. _ Goddammit _. There went his foot into his mouth again, just when Jester was cheering up.

She wilted a little, but only slightly. “Why did you...when you were talking to her...why did you stop me from saying my name?”

Fjord ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. Where to begin? “Avantika is...not a nice person, Jester. She’s clever, and confident, and she can talk her way out of pretty much anything.” He paused, trying to think of a way to describe her without sounding like he had a schoolboy crush. “But she’s mean. Really mean. She always has at least one knife on her, and she never keeps it in the same place. She’s really good at making you think she cares about you, but she doesn’t care about _ anyone _.” He sighed. “She brings out the worst in people...in me. I don’t like who I can be when I’m around her. I don’t want her in my life anymore, anywhere near you, or Beau, or -”

“Is that how you know her?” Jester leaned forward on her elbows. “From before?”

He hung his head and didn’t answer, suddenly not wanting to look her in the eye. He wanted to tell her - desperately wanted to tell her - but he couldn’t stand the thought of how she might look at him once she knew what he’d done. What he and Avantika had done. God, they’d been so stupid.

“Hey.” Jester reached for his hand and enclosed it in both of hers, squeezing gently. The soft, slightly damp fabric of her gloves was cool against his skin. “You know you don’t absolutely positively have to talk about it, right? I mean, I’d like to know and everything but I’m not gonna _ make _ you tell me.” 

Fjord looked up. She was smiling at him again, any trace of resentment long gone and replaced with empathy and encouragement, because dammit if she wasn’t the most caring friend he’d ever had. She really did deserve all the pastries.

“But you should tell me,” she continued gently. “Some time. Maybe I could help? I’m a really good listener.”

“I’m sure you are, Jes.” He squeezed her hand back and turned to look out of the window, watching the world go by while they waited to eat. The streets was a little quieter now that the lunch-break speed-shopping was over, but there were still lots of people rushing by. The old Christmas lights strung through the trees that flanked the main road had been switched on, adding polka dots of red, blue, yellow, green, and white to the gloomy afternoon. Overhead, the sky was still solid grey.

Even as he thought that, the first tiny flakes of white began to drift past the window.


	6. Walking in a winter wonderland

**“Shit,” said Beau, wiping condensation from the library window so she could glare at the world. ** Of course it was snowing. Sure, snow was pretty great when you could watch it coming down from inside a nice cosy room with hot drinks and blankets, but when you had to face the prospect of travelling through a wintery hellstorm just to get back to your bed for the night? Fuck no.

Nott crept up beside her and peered outside too. “Wow, it’s really coming down.”

“I fucking hate snow.” Beau turned away in a huff and stalked back to the table she’d commandeered. It was covered in books and notes, with a couple of paper coffee cups thrown into the mix for flavour; they’d been in the library for pretty much the entire day, reading books and taking advantage of the coffee machine. It was warm and dry in here. She didn’t particularly want to leave.

She slumped into an empty chair, folded her arms, and put one leg up on the table. “So what do you wanna do? Wait it out?”

Opposite her, Caleb had his nose buried in a book written in a language Beau didn’t understand, muttering under his breath as his finger traced the words across the page. Every so often, his other hand would twitch as if he wanted to roll up the sleeves of his oversized borrowed jumper, but resisted every time. He didn’t respond to Beau beyond a slight nod of the head. 

“Dude.” She leaned across the table and placed her hands over the pages, blocking his view. “Caleb. It’s fucking snowing.”

“Was?” He looked up, past Beau’s shoulder, and his eyes widened at the weather outside. “Schei ße. That is not good.”

Beau rolled her eyes. “No shit. I was asking what you wanna do. Library’s closing soon, we can’t stay here all night.”  _ Dammit. This is like the one place in town that doesn’t make you pay money to spend time there. _

“Can we get a lift?” Nott scuttled over and stood on one of the chairs, pointing towards the front desk where the librarian, Dairon, a slender dark-skinned person who seemed to rotate through wearing the same three blue cardigans on an unknowable schedule, was stamping some books and scribbling the occasional note to themselves on a yellow legal pad. They must have been listening to the conversation, as they looked up and fixed Nott with a steely gaze for a moment or two before returning to their work.

“I’m not asking for a ride from Dairon.” Beau flushed and somehow crossed her arms even more, practically hugging her own chest. “That’s weird, man, I mean, I barely know them.”

“You know their name,” Nott insisted. “That’s more than us.”

“Nott, come on…” Beau glanced towards Dairon again. They had their head down, but it was pretty clear now that they were eavesdropping. Fuck, she hated asking for help at the best of times; it was why she didn’t go begging with Jester and Fjord unless she was absolutely desperate for something to do, or Jester made that sad pouty expression that she could never resist. Passers-by judged you from nothing but a look, and nine times out of ten they didn’t stop to put even a penny in the hat anyway. It was demeaning. And asking Dairon? She loved coming to the library, though she’d never admit that to anyone but herself. What if this made it weird?

“I am afraid,” said the librarian without looking up from their notepad, “my car is being repaired. I had to get a lift in today myself, and I’ll most likely walk home. It is not too far for me.” They offered a somewhat regretful smile. “I’m sorry - I would if I could, believe me. You would not have to ask.” The look they gave Beau was unfathomable.

“Well, damn. Thanks anyway.” Beau’s brusque tones carried easily over the silent space, and she cleared her throat in an attempt to try and push down the rising embarrassment. She caught Caleb’s eye across the table. “I guess…we’ll have to walk it. You up for that?”

“I will have to be, I suppose.” Caleb got to his feet and stretched his arms above his head, then pulled on his old brown coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck several times before tucking the ends into the collar of his jumper. The coat, despite being pretty large and solid, somehow only managed to make him appear even skinnier, like a kid wearing their dad’s clothes. 

Beau nibbled her bottom lip. He looked as though a stiff breeze would blow him over, let alone the powerful chilling winds outside. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

Nott jumped down from her chair and stood by Caleb’s side. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Er, sure.” Beau’s gaze drifted towards the table they’d been working at - still covered in books, papers, and trash. “Oh, shit, we gotta...fuckin’...” She scrambled to gather up the loose papers and stack the books into a neat pile, glancing around for where to put them.

“Leave it, Beauregard, I can do that.” Dairon was walking towards the three of them. “It is my job, after all.” They held out a small bundle of what looked like fabric.

Beau frowned and lifted the bundle out of their hands, unravelling it to reveal a scarf, woolly hat, and gloves. “Um…”

Dairon smirked, almost imperceptibly. “If you will insist on wearing that stupid vest, at least try and keep warm another way.”

“Are these...yours?” 

“Lost property. I know you think you are the toughest person in town, but you are still only human. Be careful. I hope to see you again soon.” They turned and headed back towards the front desk, sweeping up Beau’s hastily stacked books on their way.

Slowly, Beau wrapped the scarf around her neck and pulled on the hat, tucking in her ponytail and making sure the wool didn’t catch on any of her piercings. She had to admit, the shaved sides of her head were almost immediately warmer. She begrudgingly pulled on the gloves and zipped her puffer vest all the way up, then headed for the door where Nott and Caleb were waiting.

They walked in silence, with Caleb holding Nott’s hand and Beau walking slightly ahead of the two of them, trying very hard not to look like she was shivering. It was absolutely freezing, she was cold and wet, and actually kind of wishing she had a proper coat for once. Her arms were covered in goosebumps. She wondered if Fjord and Jester had managed to make it back to the house before the snow started coming down. Not for the first time, she missed having a mobile phone, but she’d left that behind along with pretty much everything else that had any sort of tie to her family’s income. Her dad had probably destroyed it by now anyway.

The snowfall was getting worse, and the wind was picking up; it was turning into a proper storm. Beau shoved her hands as deep into her pockets as she could and folded in on herself, staring resolutely at the ground passing under her feet to try and keep the snow out of her eyes.

After a few minutes, a small hand tapped her leg, and she jumped about a foot in the air before whirling on the spot with her fists raised - it was Nott, who shrieked and pulled a knife from somewhere within the new winter coat Caduceus had let her have. Beau immediately lowered her hands, palms out. “Shit, Nott, you scared me. What’s up?”

Hopping on the spot to keep her feet warm, Nott put her knife away and pointed up the narrow street. “Are we...are you sure we’re going the right way?” she called above the wind.

“Of course we are!” Beau retorted, immediately defensive. “I’ve walked back from the library loads of times.”

“Have you ever done it in a snowstorm?” It was difficult to see Nott’s face clearly, but Beau had the distinct impression that she was trying desperately not to piss her off. “Could we have maybe...possibly...gone the wrong way?”

“We have gone the wrong way.” Caleb shuffled up behind the two of them.

“The fuck, man?” Beau rounded on him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I tried.” He gave a wan smile that lasted about a millisecond, and it was only because he was so close to her that Beau was able to catch it. “You walk much, ah, faster, than me, and I cannot speak so loud at the moment.”

Beau groaned and threw her head back in exasperation, then immediately regretted it when her face was pelted with snowflakes that bit into her like icy mosquitoes. “Fine. Fuck. You lead the way, if you can remember it so well. We’ve been standing still for like thirty seconds and I already can’t feel my feet.” She motioned for Caleb to move to the head of their little procession, and collapsed into sullen silence as she fell into step behind him, wrapping her bare arms around herself to hold in some warmth, even if she couldn’t feel her own gloved hands on her skin. Nott scurried ahead and took Caleb’s hand once more.

It took a little bit of wandering around and a couple of dead ends, accompanied by some choice words in what must have been Caleb’s native tongue that Beau didn’t understand but could tell were not entirely pleasant, before they were finally nearing the high street. Christmas lights and street lamps glowed ethereally through the haze up ahead, and dancing toward them on the wind came the sound of the town square clock chiming quarter to the hour. Beau grinned, unseen by the other two, and crossed her frozen fingers that they’d make it back to Clay House just in time for dinner.

Shadowy figures suddenly began to loom out of the white-noise world around them - two, then three, then too many to count. They’d gone from being completely isolated, barely even able to make out each other’s shapes, to being surrounded.

Beau immediately curled her hands into fists and adjusted her feet for what would hopefully be better purchase in the slippery snow. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Nott duck in front of Caleb and bring out her knife again, while Caleb sort of curled in on himself, like he would have backed up into a corner and hid if he’d been able.

“The fuck d’you want, man?” Beau growled at the nearest figure. It moved forward and revealed a young man in a leather jacket, with a bandana covering his mouth and nose. 

“No trouble, miss. Just wanderin’ if we could, uh, escort you home? S’not good to be wandering the streets in this ‘orrible weather.” He reached for Beau’s arm, and she snapped it back, ready to punch him. 

Caleb started coughing uncontrollably, so hard that it brought him to his knees and he collapsed on all fours in the snow. After a moment’s hesitation, she ran to him, her and Nott joining forces to try and help him up. “Shit...shit, Caleb, you okay?”

“Wha’s wrong with ‘im?” A couple of the men surrounding them moved closer, while others backed away until they all but disappeared in the flurry of falling snow.

“He’s sick,” Beau snapped, while rubbing soothing circles across Caleb’s back. “Hence why we’re trying to get him home, assholes, and we aren’t stopping for you. Fuck off.”

“Ja,” Caleb wheezed, raising his head and locking eyes with the nearest assailant. “I am very contagious. You would...be wise, not to come...closer.” His voice was weak, but there was an edge to it that sent a little shiver down Beau’s spine. Was he threatening them?  _ Ballsy. _

“We’re all sick!” Nott shrieked, the harshness of her scratchy voice lending some credence to the lie. “So like she said, fuck off!”

“Don’t listen!” said the first figure. “There’s seven of us and three of them, we can take ‘em easy.” He raised his own fists and smiled, revealing what Beau’s mother might have called ‘teeth like a vandalised graveyard’.

The wind was stinging cold and the snow was whipping at her eyes, but still, Beau smiled back.

She launched herself at the one who’d spoken, her feet slipping a little on the snow but not so much that she lost her balance as she charged forward. She lashed out, felt the blow connect with his smug grin and smear it right across his face. Not wanting him to get the upper hand, she spun out of reach of his flailing arm and jabbed her elbow backwards into his stomach, then in a quick one-two combo drove her fist up and into his nose. It gave way with a sickening crunch, and a split-second later her glove grew warm and wet.

The guy cried out and reeled away from her. She took the opportunity to whirl away from him and bring her left leg up, kicking hard at the chest of another attacker who’d been trying to grab her from behind. It felt a little weird - her feet were cold and almost numb from walking through the snow in what she now had to admit were impractical shoes. 

Breathing hard, heart pounding gleefully in her chest, she tossed a few tendrils of wet hair out of her eyes and glanced around, her head darting this way and that like a bird of prey, wondering where she could strike next. The snow was falling more gently now, and for the first time she could actually see their attackers for what they were; teenagers, kids even, younger than her and not fully grown into themselves, wearing bulky jackets to hide their skinniness. They’d obviously been hoping for an easy rob, with no idea what they were getting into. She’d been scrapping on the streets longer than they’d been alive.

Then came a scuffle, and a thud, and a cry of pain that quickly died.

The impromptu battlefield froze. Beau followed the sound, turning her head towards Caleb, who was kneeling on the ground as if he’d just come out of the foetal position. One of his arms was outstretched, his hand clasping the ankle of a leather-jacket kid who was sprawled on his back, eyes staring vacantly at something beyond the sky. Blood marked the snow by his head.

Caleb looked up, and his own eyes met Beau’s. They were blank, like his mind had wandered off and left his body behind.

_ Shit _ , she thought.

“Trevor!” The rest of the teenagers ran to their fallen comrade, and Beau immediately sprang towards Caleb and dragged him roughly to his feet.

“Nott! Come on!” They moved as quickly as they could through the slippery streets, Beau half-dragging Caleb with his arm around her shoulders while Nott supported him at waist height. Now that the adrenaline had left Beau’s system, the cold was creeping back in, and she focused determinedly on the lights ahead growing nearer and nearer to avoid thinking about how numb her arms were or how hard her teeth were chattering.

Finally, when she was pretty sure they weren’t being followed, she jerked to a halt under a street lamp and grabbed Caleb by the collar of his coat. “What did you do?” she hissed, shivering. “Did you just kill that kid? He was a fucking kid, man!”

Caleb didn’t say anything at first. He just stared, not quite making eye contact, and blinking slowly like a cat. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

It was then that Beau finally noticed the trickle of blood running down the side of his face, just as someone else's shadow fell over the three of them.


	7. What can I do without you, I've got no place, no place to go

**Caleb awoke in an actual bed for the second time in a row** , and immediately bolted upright. The world spun on its axis, taking his vision and his stomach with it, and he collapsed over the side of the bed to vomit into the large metal bowl someone had thoughtfully placed on the floor.

“Oh! You're, uh…you're finally awake, I see.” Nott’s footsteps scampered towards him, and he felt the mattress acquiesce beneath her weight. 

He realised he was wearing a t-shirt, that it was sticking to his skin. Someone must have stripped him. The left side of his head was throbbing incessantly. “Ah. Ich…” He stopped. He was thinking in the wrong language, he needed to...to remember how he’d ended up there, but his mind was blank, going round and round but finding nothing to land on, like the wheel of an upturned bicycle. Determined not to panic, even as his stomach dropped and his mouth filled with saliva, he cleared his throat and straightened up. Finally, the words came to him in a tongue Nott could understand. "What happened?”

“How do you feel?” She leaned against him, one small hand patting him on the back. “I’ll be totally honest, you look like shit.”

“What happened, Schatz?” Caleb said urgently, turning to face her. He could feel his breaths getting shorter as the familiar feeling of  _ not knowing _ began to creep over his skin . “Tell me. Please. I do not like having...gaps.”

Nott swallowed hard. “You...got hurt. I think maybe you were kicked in the head, but I didn’t see. Caduceus said you were very lucky not to have a concussion.” She smacked his arm, but nowhere near hard enough to actually hurt. “You need to be more careful!”

Caleb reached up to gingerly brush his fingers against the bandage that was wrapped around his head, trapping his hair. He grimaced, but knowing now why his head hurt so much was actually reassuring. “I did not start the fight.”

“True.” Nott fidgeted beside him, looking a little uncomfortable. When she next spoke, she sounded out each word carefully, as if every individual syllable had to be delicately placed so as not to worry him. “Do you remember anything about the boy who fell? Was he the one who attacked you? Because if what you did was self-defence then I don’t blame you at all, you needed to protect yourself -”

Caleb’s vision began to narrow. Images swam in front of his eyes that had no right to be in this place, in this life; children lying in the street, their limbs splayed at unnatural angles, their eyes wide and ignorant of the blood dripping into them...hungry flames licking up the sides of buildings...people running, screaming, people he knew...

“Nott the Brave,” he interjected shakily, holding up a hand so she’d stop for a moment, “please tell me, ah, you are not saying what I think you are saying.”

Nott didn’t need to ask to realise what was happening to him, even if she didn’t know why. She immediately grabbed one of his hands in both of hers. “No-no-no-no! It’s nothing like that! I mean, you hurt him, but me and Beau hurt people too, and I’m sure they’ll all be fine!” She cringed at how unconvincing she sounded. Her thumbs were rubbing round and round into Caleb’s palm, nails scratching his skin a little but not unpleasantly. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It is alright, Schatz.” Caleb closed his eyes and took a few breaths as deep as he could, then very deliberately unclenched his jaw and lowered his shoulders away from his ears. It was only when a small, determinedly suppressed squeak reached his ears that he realised he was crushing Nott’s fingers in a death grip. He immediately released her. 

“Cayyyy-leb?” The voice came before the knock, then Jester popped her head around the door. She was wearing a crown of spindly tinsel which drooped a little on one side. Her face lit up with a beaming grin when she saw him. “Hey, you’re awake! Are you feeling better?”

Caleb’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile against his own volition; apparently, Jester just seemed to have that effect on people. “I...er, ja. I think so.” He didn’t want to elaborate.

“Are you hungry?” She stepped further into the room, leaning on the doorway. She was wearing her dress with all the layers of skirts again, but this time with a thick jumper over the top which Caleb was fairly certain he had seen on Fjord that morning. “Caduceus made dinner, you can help yourself. It’s like a vegetable stew or something, and there’s rice, or at least there was when I got some. Do you want me to bring you a tray?”

“Nein, no, I will come down. I should...I will come down.” Caleb cleared his throat and tossed the bedcovers aside, then slowly got to his feet. It was only when he was standing up that he realised his legs were bare.

Who on Earth had taken his trousers off?

Jester was giggling, her cheeks flushed pink. “Your clothes are over there,” she said, pointing to the radiator, where his jumper, trousers, and socks were drying out. His shabby boots, looking even worse for wear than usual, had been placed neatly side-by-side underneath. 

Before Caleb could ask Jester anything else, she was gone, still giggling as she stamped her way cheerfully down the stairs. Caleb felt very exposed standing in the middle of the room, and he could tell Nott was trying very hard not to look at him even though he couldn’t see her, so he wobbled his way over to the radiator and began pulling on his borrowed clothes. Everything was reasonably dry apart from his socks, which were still soaked through and basically a lost cause, so he went barefoot. At least the floorboards weren’t cold. 

He descended first, descending slowly with Nott close behind, gripping the bannister like a lifeline. His chest felt a little less tight, but the pain in his head was starting to thrum through his body, and he had to remind himself not to clench his teeth too hard while trying not to fall down the narrow staircase, or it made it all worse. 

The closer they got to the ground floor, the louder it became, like someone was slowly turning up the volume of the world. When he stepped into the main hall, he noticed immediately that there were more unfamiliar people than there had been the previous night - it seemed the snow had driven them to better shelter than could be offered by the streets or a cardboard box, or perhaps whoever had directed him and Nott towards Clay House had been rounding up more strays. 

He wandered through, offering tight smiles to anyone who caught his eye. He saw Caduceus in the kitchen, dishing up something from a huge pot on the stove. Whatever it was - vegetable stew, if Jester was to be believed - it filled the room with a delicious, subtly-spiced scent. For the first time in what felt like months, Caleb’s stomach growled. He caught Caduceus’s eye and gestured towards the couches and bookshelves, telling him where he would be, and was met with a nod and a customary reassuring smile.

He commandeered a corner of the one empty couch, the other being occupied by a strange girl who was curled up with her feet tucked underneath her and her nose buried in a book. Her sleeves were long enough to completely cover her hands, and her long black hair masked one side of her face. She barely paid Caleb any mind as he passed her by.

From that spot, he could see everyone in the room while being sure that nobody would sneak up on him. He settled back against the lumpy cushions and surveyed them all slowly, trying a bit harder than usual to take in every small detail because it would distract him from the pain in his head. He saw Jester sat at one of the tables, with Nott now clambering up onto the opposite chair to see what she was up to. There was a sheaf of papers strewn around in front of her, all of them covered in scribbles and doodles and lewd drawings in different colours. Next to them, Fjord and Beau - wearing a borrowed blue robe with the sleeves rolled all the way up, her damp hair newly combed back into a ponytail - were playing a game of checkers. It looked like Beau was winning. She had a bandage wrapped around the knuckles of her right hand, and seemed to be taking particular pleasure in making Fjord move the pieces for her.

At another table, humming to himself, was someone Caleb didn’t know; an old man, with dark skin and a shock of white hair, wearing a very long and ragged green coat. Caleb shifted a little to get a better look at him, and as if he’d sensed something, the old man turned his head. His eyes were as white as his hair, but it felt as though he was looking beyond anything Caleb could see. He smiled, then lowered his head and whispered something under the table. A moment later, the head of a large, scruffy black dog appeared and settled on his thigh. The dog gazed up at him adoringly, pink tongue lolling.

Finally, Caleb’s gaze landed on a tall, sturdy, pale woman standing by the wall where all the photographs were pinned up. She was wearing a sturdy grey coat with a fur collar, and carried a duffel bag over one shoulder. The way she held herself sparked something deep in Caleb’s memory, and he felt almost compelled to approach her even though he’d only just sat down.

“Hallo.” He stood as close to her as he dared and looked where she was looking; at one of the photos, which depicted a young person with purple hair and a peacock feather tattoo that flowed down the side of their face and under their jacket collar. They were winking at the camera and sticking out their tongue to reveal two silver piercings. 

The woman didn’t answer. He glanced up at her face with some trepidation, fully aware that one of her biceps was probably as wide as his chest, if not wider. She had a cloud of braided and tangled black hair that faded to greyish-white at the tips, and the kind of face that felt like it was always going to be intimidating, even when trying not to. He felt she would have been more at home standing majestic at the prow of a Viking longship in an ocean storm, sword drawn and lightning flashing overhead. 

Then, he noticed the small ceramic pin attached to the lapel of her coat, and he realised why she had somehow seemed familiar. He didn’t need to read it to know what it said.

“You served,” he said quietly.

She looked down at him, and he saw that her eyes were different colours. Despite this, they were the same eyes he saw on the rare occasions he looked into a mirror. “I am sorry?”

“You served, ja?” He gestured vaguely towards the pin, careful not to touch her. 

Her face was carefully blank. “I...did. A long time ago.”

Caleb nodded. “As did I,” he murmured. “A long time ago.”

It was as though he’d spoken in code, some secret language that nobody else in the room understood; her face softened a little, and she gave him a tiny smile. “My name is Yasha.” 

“Caleb. Caleb Widogast.” He offered his hand, not expecting her to take it, but she gripped it carefully and shook it as if afraid she might hurt him. Her fingers almost entirely encompassed his. 

“It is good to meet you properly, Caleb,” she said. “Are you feeling better now? How is your head?”

“How do you -” He blinked, and a sudden flash of memory popped into his mind; he’d been standing in the snow with Beau yelling at him, and seen a large figure approaching behind her. “You were out there? Did you...did you see the fight?”

Yasha shook her head. “No, I just found you. I was heading over here anyway, since I am in town, and then, um, I thought I heard something, so I crossed the street and uh, there was Beau. Shouting.” She looked slightly perplexed. “She shouts a lot.”

Caleb gingerly rubbed the side of his head. “How did I get back here?”

“I carried you.” She shrugged. “It was nothing, I am very strong. I think Beau might have been a little jealous, though.” She looked across the room, to where Beau and Fjord had abandoned their game of checkers and were bickering in hissing tones. As they watched, Beau picked up one of the red pieces and threw it at Fjord with startling accuracy - it smacked him right in the centre of his forehead. 

“I took you to your room once we got here,” Yasha continued, “but I don’t know what happened after that. Caduceus and Jester were doing something. And it worked, I guess, here you are. You look less pale than before.”

“Er...danke.” Caleb’s thoughts were conflicted - he was grateful for the gaps in his memory now being filled, and for Yasha’s help, especially as she had no idea who he was, but he didn’t know how to take the fact that he’d needed to be carried through the streets like an invalid. Was he really so weak? Did he always have to get others to do things for him? “I am...sorry that you had to do that.”

Yasha’s face suddenly darkened, her mismatched eyes narrowed with startling intensity. “I don’t usually do things unless I want to.” She turned her face back towards the photograph of the colourful peacock person, a clear signal that she wanted to stop talking. “You are welcome, and I’m glad you’re alright.”

Caleb didn’t want to press her. Maybe they could talk more some other time, once she was a bit more settled. He gave her an awkward thumbs up, then looped round to pass the kitchen on his way back to the couch, saving Caduceus the trouble. Ready for him on the counter was a large bowl of thick stew with chunks of colourful vegetables, a pile of brown rice, and some misshapen bread that he suspected was homemade, all presented on a brightly coloured plastic tray. His stomach rumbled again. “This...looks good.”

“Take your time with it,” Caduceus advised as he stirred the stew pot. He was chewing something, a morsel of bread maybe, and it gave him a slightly bovine look. He took two white pills in a little baggy from his pocket and slid them onto the tray. “Eat before you have those. We’re not allowed to give out anything stronger, and if you need more it’ll be four hours or so.”

“Danke.” Caleb nodded, then looked up at him properly. He seemed different to the night before, as if something was troubling him. There was tension around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, it looked like Caduceus considered lying to him, but then his shoulders drooped and he let out a deep sigh. “This time of year...it’s a lot. I’m doing what I can, but…” He looked out across the room, taking in the ragtag group who were calling this place home for the night. “Hang on, I’ve gotta say something.”

To Caleb’s surprise, Caduceus stepped out from behind the kitchen counter and crossed the room, barely taking five strides with his long legs to reach the middle. He stood in between all the tables and waited until everyone was looking at him, even the white-haired man’s dog. “Uh, hey, uh, everyone,” he began, then he seemed to lose his nerve a bit. “Oh boy. Uh, listen, I’ve gotta tell you all something, and it’s not gonna be pretty. I’m sorry, I’m not used to being…” He trailed off, reaching up absently to scratch the shaved side of his head and fiddle with his earring. 

“Dude,” Beau interjected. “You okay? What’s up?”

Caduceus sighed again. “I was doing, uh, money stuff today. Budgeting, you know. And it looks like...well, since my family’s gone, and we don’t have a lot coming in, we can do Christmas and everything, but then. Uh.” His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to shrink from his great height. “I’m sorry, everyone. It looks like the house will have to close.”


	8. Faithful friends who are dear to us

**The snow didn’t really stop until two nights later, ** while Jester was standing in the Clay House garden around midnight, staring down at a grave. Nothing marked it beyond a stick poking out of the ground and a small rose bush that was barely more than a bunch of twigs at this time of year, and both of those things were struggling to be seen above the deep, untouched snow.

The childish part of Jester wanted to jump on that snow and be the first one to leave footprints there, but the much more sensible part of her - which did exist, contrary to popular belief - would never let her do that to Molly. So she stood, hands clasped, and said a quiet prayer for him to whoever was listening. 

The wind was a little less forceful over here by the fence, but it was still freezing. She had Fjord’s big jumper on over her nightdress, which she should probably have given back to him by now, but her legs were practically bare and she didn’t have her hat or gloves. Inside the wellington boots she’d taken from by the back door, which were far too big for her and had made crossing the garden even more treacherous, her feet felt frozen solid. Her cheeks, damp with tears, was stinging with cold. She reached up to rub them, hoping the friction might warm them up a little, but it didn’t really help and she realised with dismay that she could feel stubble growing back across her chin. She’d have to shave again soon; maybe Yasha could help her, she was good at that.

“Jes? There you are.” Slow, careful footsteps crunched over the snow towards her. She knew it was Beau without turning around. 

“Hi.” She sniffed loudly and hugged herself around the middle. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“I wasn’t,” Beau explained through chattering teeth, “but there’s that fucking owl outside our window that won’t shut up. I think it’s nesting or something.”

Jester frowned. “I don’t think that’s right. Birds nest in the spring, don’t they?”

“Whatever, I don’t fucking know.” Beau huffed and crossed her arms. She was still only wearing the tank top and sweatpants that she usually slept in, with a different pair of borrowed boots on her feet. They were pink - Jester wondered briefly who they’d belonged to, and how she hadn’t noticed them herself when she’d come out here. “Anyway, it woke me up, and then I saw you weren’t in your bed, so I came looking for you. Have you been crying?”

“For me?” Deftly sidestepping the question, Jester smiled and wrinkled her nose teasingly. “Were you worried about me, Beau?”

She shifted under Jester’s playful gaze. “Duh. I like...I prefer to know where you are. And you’ve been really sad the last couple of days, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I’m fine.” Jester looked away and nibbled at a piece of loose skin on her bottom lip. “Just fine.”

“Sure. That’s why you’re standing out in the snow in the middle of the night crying over a dead guy’s dead rose bush. For some weird-ass reason, I don’t believe you.” Beau arched an eyebrow, something that she seemed to have perfected without trying and that Jester could never quite get the hang of, despite practising repeatedly in front of the mirror in the big shared bathroom. Then, her expression softened into one of genuine concern. “Don’t lie to me, Jes. What’s going on?”

Jester continued to nibble her lip and didn’t say anything for a while. The garden grew silent as if the world on the other side of the garden fence wasn’t there, and all that existed was her and Beau in this quiet, cold, crystalline space. 

“Jester?” Beau nudged her gently.

Finally, knowing from experience that Beau was stubborn as a dog with a bone once something had piqued her curiosity, she sighed and let her clasped hands drop to fiddle with the edge of her nightdress. “I’m worried about Molly.”

Beau’s shocked face looked as though that had been the last thing she’d expected her to say. “What? Molly? Why?”

“It’s just…” She took a deep breath and tried to straighten out the thoughts that were tangled like a yarn ball in her head. “What happens to him if the house shuts down? What if he’s just left here and then someone demolishes it and builds something super boring like offices or a dentist or whatever, and nobody ever knows he’s buried here? What if he gets forgotten, Beau?” Her voice pitched up at the end of her question, giving Beau’s name an extra syllable in her distress.

“Hey, hey, come on…” Beau reached out and patted her awkwardly on the arm. “He won’t be. We’ll remember him, right? All of us. And you’ve got his old cards and we’ve got photos. We couldn’t forget him if we tried.” She grinned, but it only lasted for a moment; Molly’s death had hit her hard, harder than maybe all of them except for Yasha. She shook her head, then shuddered in the cold. “Come inside, Jes. We can keep talking if you want, but it’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Okay, okay.” She followed Beau back across the snowy garden to the warmth of the house, abandoning her borrowed boots by the doorstep and padding into the kitchen in her damp socks, fetching a glass and filling it with water from the tap. “Do you want a drink?”

Beau tossed a “Nah, I’m good,” over her shoulder as she turned the main lights on and headed for the nearest radiator to hold her hands as close to it as she dared. It was an old, rusting, noisy thing, that always looked like it was considering when the opportune moment to explode, and like everything else in Clay House, it had seen better days. 

Jester could remember the first couple of nights she’d spent here, when she hadn’t been familiar with all the strange noises an old house could make. She’d been convinced ghosts were tapping on her door, rats scurrying inside the walls and under the floorboards, voices floating on the wind that hissed her deepest, darkest fears through the narrow gaps in the old window frame. She’d barely slept at all, but at least she hadn’t been alone.

“Beau?”

“Yeah?” She looked up, her blue eyes wide and expectant. “What’s up?”

“I…um...” Her voice suddenly wouldn’t work. She looked at Beau, shivering in her sleepwear and looking all sleep-mussed and like she just wanted to go back to bed but still paying attention to Jester in case she needed her. She looked around the hall, at the walls covered with all the decorations she and Nott had put up only a few nights ago, twinkling dimly in the little moonlight that managed to peek through the windows. She looked at the photos by the stairs, at Molly winking and smiling at the camera, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep, horrible sadness that made her heart ache. She lifted her cup and took a sip of water, thinking it might help somehow, but she hiccoughed at just the wrong moment and it all dribbled down her front. Oh, now her chin was all wet, and Fjord’s jumper was wet, and she was still really cold, and, and...

Her lower lip wobbled dangerously, and she burst into tears.

“Jester?!” Beau’s voice sounded panicked, and she desperately wanted to say something to make her feel better, but all she could do was keep sobbing. She heard running footsteps, bare feet smacking on the kitchen tiles, and then Beau was there, holding her gingerly like she might fall to pieces. “Jes, what’s wrong?”

“Everything’s so  _ horrible _ , Beau!” she wailed, then her knees gave way and the two of them sank to the floor, entwined. “It’s Christmas, it’s supposed to be like the  _ best _ time of year, but I’m in this weird town and I’m  _ so  _ far away from my mama and the  _ one _ place I found that will let me stay is going to close down and probably be blown up or something and I still can’t go home so where can I go? And what about you? What if we can’t stay together, what if we all drift apart and then it’s just me and the Traveller?” She hiccoughed again, then hid her tear-streaked face against Beau’s shoulder.

Beau knew about the Traveller, how he’d started as an imaginary friend who went to all the places Jester dreamed of visiting, and then become an important confidant when she’d started to realise she liked wearing dresses and styling her hair with bows, and that maybe she wanted to be called by a different name. Sometimes she still talked to him, on those long nights when her head was buzzing too hard for her to sleep, or when she looked in the mirror and couldn’t see herself in the reflection.

“Hey, at least you wouldn’t be on your own,” Beau murmured, then groaned. “I mean...ah, fuck, I’m not good at this? Just, uh, look. We’re not gonna drift apart. Whatever happens to this place, you’ve got me, and Fjord, and I mean I don’t know about the others but whatever. And we could try and find somewhere else, maybe.”

Jester was quiet for a long time. “They have a women’s shelter on the other side of town, near the big bus station,” she whispered, “but they wouldn’t let me in. That’s why I ended up here.”

Beau had been running her uninjured hand up and down Jester’s back. When the words registered, she went very, very still. “Why not?” She spoke in a monotone, always a sure sign that she was pissed off but trying to hold it together for someone else’s sake. “You’re a woman.”

Somehow, Jester’s voice got even smaller. “They didn’t think so.”

Beau’s composure disintegrated. “What the fuck?” She took Jester’s face in her hands and lifted her head so they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Want me to kick their asses?”

“No, I don’t want you to get into trouble.” 

“It’s no trouble.” Her grin was wicked and a little bit scary.

Jester screwed her eyes shut, almost wishing she’d never said anything. “Beau…”

“It’s bullshit, Jes. You’re a fucking woman, and what’s more, you’re a woman  _ in need _ , and they’re just turning you away because of what? Their own fucking prejudice?” She dropped her hands from Jester’s face to her shoulders. “You should be...you should be safe. You should have somewhere.”

“Beau…” Jester said again, but her tone was different; her heart felt like it might burst but in the best way possible, because Beau was rushing to defend her, to protect her, just like all the heroes in those books she used to borrow from her mama’s bedside table. It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for her.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world to lean forward, wrap her arms around Beau, and hug her tight. At first, her friend protested a little, like a grouchy cat objecting to being picked up, but then she hugged her back and settled her chin on Jester’s shoulder.

“Love you, Jes.”

Jester beamed. “Love you too, Beau.”

“You still feeling shitty?” She sat back and rubbed her eyes, then stifled a huge yawn.

“A little. I just feel so…” Jester paused, trying to think of the right words. “Like there’s nothing I can do, you know?”

Beau nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get that. Maybe we could try and think of stuff, though, like ways to raise a bit of money. I don’t...I don’t wanna lose this place either, cos fuck going back home. No offence.”

“That’s okay, I know you wouldn’t say that if you had a mama like mine. Ooh! Maybe I should write to her, ask her if she can send some money to help us? I bet she’d be  _ really _ cool about it, she always gave me stuff I wanted if I asked nicely.”

“Sure, Jes.” Beau yawned again, so wide that her jaw clicked. She stretched her well-sculpted bare arms high and leaned her head back, rolling it from side to side to loosen her neck and shoulders. “It’s worth a shot.”

Jester frowned at the tiled floor, partly in concentration, and partly because she was trying to distract herself from the sight of Beau’s exposed midriff as her vest got lifted up. Sometimes she wondered what the skin there felt like. Her arms were always really soft and smooth - was it the same? “I think we could maybe ask for donations because people always want to get rid of stuff after Christmas, you know? Presents they didn’t ask for and clothes that don’t fit and stuff. Maybe we could, like, put up posters or something? Collection boxes? And oh, what if we all went out into the square and did some carol singing? I bet people would like that.” She knew she was babbling now. The proximity of Beau and the sudden realisation that her friend was wearing hardly any layers at all were giving her butterflies. And after what they’d just said to each other? While  _ hugging _ ? 

Eep.

She bit her lip, then noticed Beau was talking, and she hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “I’m sorry, what was that?” She yawned too, just to cover it up.

Beau gave her a quick, sympathetic smile. “I was saying, I could maybe...ask Dairon for help? Or at least if they’d let us use the computers in the library for, like, research and stuff? Looking up charities, or businesses that could help, or see if there’s any sort of, like, government grants Caduceus could try applying for.”

“Ohmygosh, Beau, that is  _ such _ a good idea!” Jester gasped, grinning wide and gesticulating wildly with her hands. “And then maybe we could ask if they’d let us put one of our boxes in the  _ library _ , for people to drop stuff off or put money in or something! We know people like...people who don’t have homes go to the library  _ all the time _ , it could be...oh, wait.” Her shoulders drooped. “We don’t have any stuff to make boxes with. Not proper ones.” Deflated, she leaned slowly backwards until she felt the cool of the kitchen floor against her back, then starfished her limbs and sighed. “I miss having money.”

“I don’t,” Beau grunted. “Not if it was my dad’s. Although, that could be where we start, asking your mom if she could send you something. Then we could buy, like, crafty stuff.” 

“Do you think that’s how Caduceus paid for this place? Like, he had money from his family?” Jester asked, swishing her feet from side to side as she stared at the ceiling. There were some interesting food stains up there - at least, she hoped they were food stains. “Maybe I shouldn’t have kept using up all the milk.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Beau shifted beside her, scooting across the tiles, then her face appeared and blocked out the view of a stain Jester was sure was either soup or ice cream. “I exercise most mornings and then I eat so much more than’s probably affordable. Don’t put yourself down, okay?”

“Hehe. Thanks, Beau.”

“No problem. Look, Jes, we should go to bed. It’s good that we’re coming up with all these ideas, but I think it would be better if we tackled this again in the morning. You need sleep, you’ve been all over the place.” Beau stood up and stretched again, arching her back, then offered a hand to help Jester. “We can tell Caduceus all this stuff in the morning, see what he wants to do.”

She took Beau’s hand, which was warm and sort of rough-smooth at the same time, and clambered to her feet. As soon as she was standing, her vision blurred a little, and all the weariness she’d been holding back flooded through her body. She sagged, her arms and legs feeling heavy and awkward. “Beauuuuu-wuh,” she whined, “I’m so tiiiiired.”

“I know, I know. Come on, sleepyhead.” Beau tucked one arm around her waist and brought Jester’s arm over her shoulders. It felt nice to be so close together. “You’ve barely slept these last few days; I know you were up late the other night putting all this crap on the walls.”

“It’s not crap!” Jester insisted, but then she fell silent and just let Beau’s warm, strong body support her as they walked in tandem to the staircase. It was too narrow for them to climb side-by-side, so Beau went first and held Jester’s hand to keep her walking up behind, otherwise she might have been tempted to just camp on the steps until morning and make for the summit tomorrow.

They tiptoed to their bedroom door as quietly as possible, and when they reached it Jester slumped against the frame. She was feeling fragile. “Beau,” she whispered into the shadows, “will you sleep with me?”

“Uhhh…” The sound dragged on for a while, like Beau had a CD in her mouth that had gotten stuck. Was she blushing? It was hard to tell. Eventually, she coughed and cleared her throat a few times. “Oh! Sure. You want big spoon or little spoon?”

“Little.” She led the way into their room and headed for her bed, which was at least a little tidier than Beau’s, and definitely smelled nicer. The door swung slowly shut behind them.

The moment it clicked into its frame, when the hallway was quiet once more, another door opened further down. Fjord appeared on the threshold, fully dressed with coat, scarf, and gloves, and clutching his boots in one hand. He checked left and right, then crept down the corridor towards the stairs.

Down in the main hall, he pulled on his boots. The house was silent. It felt like the whole world was holding his breath, waiting for him to make a choice. 

This was stupid. He was stupid. He should just go back to bed, right?

He reached into the pocket of his trousers and patted the folded envelope that rested there, before sneaking out of the door and into the night.


	9. I really can't stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: gaslighting, emotional manipulation, post-sex injuries (I can't think of another way to phrase that).

**Avantika’s hotel room had a lovely art-deco style chandelier on the ceiling. ** Lying sleepless on her wide, soft bed, Fjord found it was pretty much all he could focus on - that, and the ache of bruises blossoming over his skin. 

But he was trying to ignore that. The post-sex haze had worn off by now, leaving guilt, embarrassment, and soreness in its wake, and now he had the time and space to contemplate just why the fuck he’d thought it was a good idea to come and see her in the middle of the night.

No, he knew exactly why. She’d sent him a letter, in a seemingly innocent gesture that had brought a deep, sickening feeling to his stomach. He’d almost run from the breakfast table to throw up when it had arrived the day before, but stopped himself in time, because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to hold firm against Jester’s sweet concern or Beau’s stubborn inquisitiveness. 

He’d tried to convince himself that seeing her was the right thing to do, that they could have a sensible adult conversation and set their shared past to rest. He would persuade her to leave him alone and they would part ways, if not on friendly terms then at least with an understanding that any overlapping of their paths through life was now over.

He should have known he wasn’t strong enough for that. Stupid, stupid.

As quietly as possible, he freed himself from the tangled duvet and sat up, swinging his legs around and settling his feet into the plush carpet. He’d never been in a hotel room this fancy, hadn’t even known this place was here. He felt torn between being terrified to touch anything in case he made it dirty - everything in the room was coloured pleasant shades of beige and cream, with delicate accents of gold and warm burgundy - and wanting desperately to find out if the big wingback armchair in the corner was as comfortable as it looked, or what might be inside the little fridge under the desk. It didn’t surprise him that this was where Avantika had chosen to base herself for the time being. She had a taste for the finer things in life.

He’d had the presence of mind to put his underwear back on before dozing off earlier, but now he felt far too exposed. He hunted around the room and picked up his jeans from where they’d landed in a crumpled heap near the bathroom door, noticing as he did so the fading pink lines marking his wrists. He swallowed hard and looked away, fumbling to get half-dressed without waking up the sleeping woman in the room.

Avantika shifted in her slumber, muttering something in French. Fjord froze midway through zipping his flies and glanced towards the bed. She’d rolled over, towards where he’d been moments before, her hands groping blindly. The tattoo on her right palm was barely visible from where he stood but it was almost as if he could feel it there, watching him. He waited a little longer to see if she’d wake up. She rolled over onto her back, the covers slipping away to expose her breasts to the world, along with the fresh eye tattoo on her chest which he hadn’t ever seen until a couple of hours ago. The bright ink of the yellow-amber sphere with a slit pupil, like something ripped straight out of Lord of the Rings, glowed strangely against her skin.

Looking at her body - and there was no denying it, she was a very attractive woman - Fjord couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit pleased with how he’d...performed. He wasn’t super experienced with sex, and he hadn’t really had a lot of control over the whole encounter, but it had certainly seemed like Avantika had been having a good time.

Then again, she was a notorious liar.

Tiptoeing into the bathroom, Fjord made sure the door was completely closed behind him before he turned on the lights. _ Oof. _ Bathroom lighting was unflattering at the best of times, but in here his skin looked positively green. He turned slowly on the spot, taking in every inch of his reflection, from the scruff of stubble along his jaw to the dark shadows under his eyes. It was a little weird to see himself like this; he looked smaller, more vulnerable. Avantika’s teeth had marked his neck on both sides with deep red ovals that were just shy of turning purple, and she’d scratched up his back and shoulders like an angry cat. He lifted his arms to further examine his stomach and midriff, grateful that the sound of the bathroom’s extractor fan could mask his groan of remorse. At least it was winter - he could wear long sleeves and turtlenecks, hide the marks from any prying eyes until they faded.

He found himself thinking suddenly of Jester. What would she think of him, seeing the state of him? Would she ask what had happened, or would she just quietly look him over, wide and silent eyes saying more than she ever could, then fetch the first-aid kit just in case he needed something?

He groaned again and sat down heavily on the edge of the bathtub, which was one of those big roll-top things with clawed feet and taps that were supposed to look like gold. Compared to the rest of the room’s understated opulence, it was almost tacky. Fjord looked at the taps and wondered briefly, absurdly, if he could fill the tub to the brim and hide away under the warm water, away from everything. Just for a little while.

What was he going to do? Avantika was in bed still, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to get fully dressed and slip out of the room without waking her up. Even if he did, what if she contacted him again? She knew where he spent his nights - but then, that might not be the case for much longer after Caduceus’s recent revelation, which was worrying enough itself.

He hadn’t got the chance to actually ask her what she’d wanted when he’d turned up at her door tonight, either. Was it just a sex thing? Had she missed him? Or was she trying to...get him involved again? He’d tried to leave that all behind after Sabian had ratted them out and brought the whole operation crumbling to the ground; moved to a new city, made new friends, kept to the straight and narrow as much as was possible when you had no money and no way of making it. The help he’d received in Clay House had been a godsend, he didn’t want to risk it all for the sake of an old flame. 

There was Jester’s face in his mind’s eye again, smiling sweet and understanding; Beau, all judgmental eyebrows and smirks but probably the best friend he’d ever had; Caduceus, a pillar of calm and reassurance he could cling to when it felt like the world was tossing him around too much. Even Yasha, who’d always intimidated him even though he had a few inches’ height on her and she hardly ever said a word, was kind and willing to lend an ear if he just wanted to put some of his thoughts and feelings into words, just to relieve the pressure inside his head. 

He still wasn’t sure about Nott, given their disastrous first impression of each other, and Caleb seemed to keep to himself most of the time. 

Regardless, he’d come to see them all as friends and family, even those who appeared in Clay House one night and were gone the next day, like passengers on a layover. Was he willing to give up all the support he got now, all the understanding, a roof over his head and warm food in his belly? It didn’t matter that it might not last forever - nothing lasted forever. He needed to keep it for as long as he could, and that meant leaving this over-the-top hotel room and shutting Avantika out of his life, for good this time.

He got to his feet, full of renewed determination, just as the door swung open and Avantika stepped into the room.

“Salut, mon grande.” She smiled at him, fluffing out her hair with her fingers. Her gaze flicked up and down his body, taking him all in, and her smile widened in satisfaction. She’d pulled on a silky excuse for a robe which skimmed her thighs and, if anything, only emphasised the curve and sway of her hips as she made her way towards him. 

“Avantika-aaaaa…” Her name was turned into an involuntary gasp from Fjord’s lips as she ran her palms up his bare chest and tweaked one of his nipples with her glossy black nails. He wrapped his hands around her wrists to keep her at bay, then straightened up to his full height and tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“I awoke, and you were gone. What were you doing in here?” She didn’t seem to mind him restraining her at all - in fact, she came closer, forcing him to stagger backwards across the cool tiled floor or risk losing his balance.

“Oh, you know.” Fjord looked away from her piercing gaze and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror again. He was blushing. “Just, er...surveying the damage.” He attempted a laugh.

Avantika nodded approvingly. “You know how I like to leave my mark, chouchou.”

“Uh-huh…” He swallowed hard and released her, folding his arms over his chest so she had to take a step back. Behind her, the door was open, and he could just see the corner of the bed. Against his will, his mind suddenly filled with memories of the past few hours, heat and salt and silk and pain and... He swallowed again. “Listen, Avantika, tonight has been...great, just really great, it’s been great to see you again, but, uh…”

“What are you trying to say, chouchou? Are you leaving me?” For the first time since he’d turned up at her door earlier, Avantika didn’t look happy when she looked at him. Her lips pursed in a moue of disappointment. 

“Well,” Fjord stammered, “I was thinking that I needed to get back, and people will be wondering where I am, and -”

She placed her hand over his mouth, cutting him off. “Who are ‘people’, Fjord? That little thing I saw you with? Is she a friend of yours? Do you have other friends?”

_ Ah, fuck _. He’d been trying to avoid mentioning anyone from the house, and he’d blundered right into doing it himself. Might as well have given her a list of names on a silver platter - she would never let this go now. He mumbled around her fingers, then winced when she released him and scratched his chin with her painted talons. “Just...people I know,” he assured her, “nobody that important, I barely know them at all, really, it’s just that we spend a lot of time in the same place so one of them might notice if I’m not around…”

“You know,” Avantika said with an air of dejection, “I didn’t invite you here just for a fuck and stroll down memory lane, mon cher.” She stepped away from him entirely and turned to face the window, wrapping her arms around herself. “I saw you on the street that day, begging for scraps like a common mutt, and it hurt me.”

Fjord’s heart couldn’t help itself; it leapt, a little leap, more of a hop, and he immediately tried to quash it down inside. Avantika said a lot of pretty words, but just because she said things didn’t ever mean she meant them. He took a slow breath. “Really?” 

She nodded, solemn. “I remember when we first met, and you had no idea how the world worked. I lifted you up, and I taught you everything I knew, and you became a glorious creature to behold! Watching you work...I was so proud. I want to help you again.” She turned back to him, came to him, embraced him before he could stop her and laid her cheek against his chest. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her robe. “_ That _ is why I told you to come here. You should not be picking up whatever is dropped by people who do not care about you to survive. You deserve more than that, and I would very much like to give it to you.”

“Avantika, listen to me. Please.” He waited until she finally looked up at him. The expression on her face was suddenly so kind that his newfound resolve almost fell to pieces, and he floundered for a moment before remembering what he wanted to say. “You say you want to help me, but I don’t want to owe you anything. I don’t like owing people, and if I say yes to whatever it is you’ve got in mind, I just...I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get a fresh start in this town, a clean slate, you know? But now you’re here, and we’ve already...and I don’t know if I can trust you, I thought I’d left you and that whole part of my life behind after what happened with Sabian, and I don’t want -”

“Sshhh, shh-shh. So confused. C’est bien, mon cher.” She slid one hand up to his neck and began to stroke his hair, rubbing her fingers in soothing circles. Fjord tensed up for a second, then a shudder ran down his spine and he relaxed under her touch. “I’m sorry you are feeling like this, I only wanted to try and make things better for you, but we have not talked, have we? You do not know why I am even here in this place.”

Fjord shook his head. “I think it’d definitely help if you could tell me some stuff?” Nervousness turned his sentence into a question, too high-pitched and tentative for his liking, and he winced. “I mean, some clarification would be good.”

“Then come.” Avantika broke away and took his hand. “We have not yet gone to bed properly and so I believe it counts as the same day, non? We will have a drink, and I will tell you more. There are names you will need to know, people you will need to meet.” She started to pull him back into the bedroom.

“Wait, Avantika…” He followed her through and sat down heavily on the bed while she wandered to the fridge and bent over to survey its contents. As she rummaged, he kept his eyes trained on the chandelier and tried to calm his thumping heart. “I haven’t agreed to anything, you know, I just want to get a better handle on your...suggestions.”

“Of course, chouchou.” She straightened up slowly, arching her back a little more than necessary, and joined him on the bed with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. Without asking how much he wanted, she poured for both of them, then shot him a look laced with heat over the rim of her glass. Fjord took a large swig of the wine to distract himself, and somehow just managed to choke it down without coughing. He’d forgotten how much he didn’t like wine. 

She was good at making him forget himself.

They moved back towards the headboard, lounging across the many pillows. She curled against him and he instinctively put his arm around her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then realised what he’d done - but it was too late. Moving now would just make it worse. _ Way to stay strong, bud. Really showing her who’s boss. _

Avantika sipped her wine, languorous, and began to talk, though Fjord wasn’t paying much attention. She seemed entirely confident in her position, which was more than he could say for himself. 

How had telling her he was going to leave turned into lying on her bed with her body curving around him, drinking her wine, listening to her sales pitch about why he should let her help him?

What the fuck was he doing?

All of a sudden, he felt trapped, stomach pitching and rolling, nerves jangling, uncomfortable heat shuddering through his body. He needed to get out, needed to go back to the house, snow and cold be damned. This wasn’t...he didn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t have come, should have ignored Avantika’s letter and just kept trying to forget about her, about Sabian and Vandran and everything that had come before…

His spiral was stopped in its tracks by a sharp knock at the door. 

“Ah!” Avantika disentangled herself from him and stood up. She adjusted her robe, tossed her hair, and smiled at him. A shark smile. “You are in luck, mon grande. I was hoping you would still be here when he arrived.”


	10. But everybody knows it's hard to be alone at this time of year

**“And you didn’t see him go out this morning?” **Jester asked with a tremor in her voice. Toast crumbs spewed from her mouth and scattered on the table. “He didn’t leave a note in his room or anything?”

Caduceus swallowed the tea he’d been swirling around his mouth and shook his head. “Afraid not. But he’s entitled to come and go as he pleases, you all are. I’m sure he’ll come back in his own time.”

Jester shoved her plate away with such force that it sent her sketchbook careening towards the other side of the table, doomed to fall off the edge. Caduceus caught it smoothly in a rare display of reflexes and placed it back in front of her. “But what if he doesn’t?” she moaned. “What if he went out for a walk and got lost and _ froze _ to death? He doesn’t know his way around here, he’s only been here for a little while! Or what if he’s hurt and, like, lying in the snow somewhere nobody can hear him calling, or -”

“I do not believe panicking will help him,” came a soft voice from the other end of the table.

Both of them turned to look at Caleb, who was sitting with an untouched mug of tea and a plate of limp toast beside him, nose buried in the big leather-bound book where Caduceus tried - and often failed - to keep track of the house accounts. He held a pencil poised above the open pages, ready to strike with all the precision of an eagle’s talon. 

In short, he hadn’t appeared to be part of the conversation at all, yet here he was, commenting.

“It is as Caduceus says,” he continued, still without looking at either of them. His hand darted towards the page and deftly scribbled a note in the margin, then he reached up to stifle a cough. Caduceus was pleased to note that the coughs were fewer and further between than they had been the day before. “Fjord can, ah, do what he likes. He will make his own way back, like the tomcat who walks the streets all day but comes home for dinner, ja?” 

“Caleeeeeb,” Jester whined, “Fjord isn’t like that. You don’t know him like me, he -”

“He would be very stupid, ja, to think wandering in the snow is preferable to being here.” He glanced up and finally caught Jester’s eye. “The company is so much better.” He winked, too quickly anyone but Caduceus to be sure it had happened, then returned to the book.

Jester huffed, but a tiny smile played around her lips. “Fine, Caleb, I’ll wait for him.” She gathered up her book and flounced away to where Nott and another new arrival, a blonde smidgen of a girl who wore a brown dress, were chattering quietly and swapping trinkets with each other. The house kept filling up for Christmas, like it always did. Maybe some other lost souls would turn up today.

Caduceus watched her go carefully, noting the lack of a spring in her step, the way she dragged her feet a little even though she was clearly trying very hard to be as bouncy as ever. She still wasn’t sleeping properly, then. He’d thought he’d heard her last night talking to Beau, and he knew she was worried about the house closing down; the ideas she’d bombarded him with over breakfast for the last hour were enough evidence of that. He was touched that she cared so deeply, but he didn’t want her to run herself ragged.

Caleb cleared his throat roughly. “Herr Clay, would you come here a moment?” He tapped the book ominously with the tip of his pencil.

A chill settled into Caduceus’s belly. He blinked, bringing himself back to reality, and turned to look at Caleb’s stern face. He wondered if that was how he always looked, like he had too many thoughts fighting for space inside his brain and they were weighing down his eyebrows. The bandages wrapped around his head didn’t help. “Is it bad?”

“Es ist nicht so gut,” said Caleb, deadpan, and while Caduceus didn’t know the precise meaning of those words he could tell it wasn’t positive. He unfolded his long body from his creaky little chair and went to lean over Caleb’s shoulder.

Even just a quick glance at the pages covered in words and numbers, a mix of his own elongated scrawl in fading biro and Caleb’s precise pencil notations, was enough to start giving him a headache. “Oh boy,” he mumbled. “That’s a lot.” 

Caleb looked up. “Would you like me to talk you through it?”

Resigned, Caduceus nodded and reached for his teacup - he had a feeling he was going to need it. “Sure. Go ahead.”

He did his best, really he did, but the longer Caleb went on about incomings and outgoings and tax codes and declarations and lots of other things Caduceus had never heard of, let alone thought about in great detail, the more he found himself unable to figure out the simplest responses. He heaved a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between two bony fingers. “How do you know all this?”

“Was?” Caleb paused mid-ramble and took a sip of his cold tea, probably more for the fact that he’d been talking non-stop for the past fifteen minutes rather than any actual desire for sustenance. “Ah. I, uh, I have been told I am something of a wizard. With numbers.” He offered up a meek smile. 

“Is that what you used to do?” Caduceus tilted his head to one side.

“Ah, nein, I…” Caleb fumbled. The small amount of confidence he’d gained while talking through the accounts book fell to pieces again under the watchful gaze of his tall, pink-haired companion. “I am just...good with them.”

“Well, that’s great, because I’m really not. I look at them too long and they start moving across the pages, like bugs, you know? Except I like bugs. Bugs are good.” He went to sip more of his tea, but the cup was empty; he grimaced and placed the cup back onto its saucer. “Then my head itches. I start thinking about other things that I can do, things that don’t make me feel bad, and then the numbers never get a chance.” 

Very slowly, Caleb placed his pencil in the valley between the book’s open pages. “What is it that worries you?” he asked quietly.

For a split-second Caduceus considered explaining some of the worries that had made themselves at home inside him, only because it had been so long since anyone had asked, but then he just shrugged affably. Caleb had enough going on right now without him adding to the pile. “It doesn’t matter. They just don’t make sense, you know?”

Caleb frowned, and Caduceus experienced the strange feeling of knowing that someone knew you were probably lying, but they weren’t going to point it out. He wondered if anyone ever felt like that when he looked at them. “I think there is a word for that, ah, dyslexia, but for numbers. You look at them and they do not fit together, ja? Like if you are trying to read a book in a dream.” 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever tried to do that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

The two of them lapsed into silence, broken only by the giggles and exclamations of Nott, Jester, and their blonde companion from across the room. Beau had made it downstairs by now too, and had promptly retrieved coffee from the kitchen before slinking between the bookshelves - Caduceus only knew where she was because he could see her ponytail sticking up. The rest of the most recent additions to the house had yet to surface, though he’d heard the telltale barking of Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna about an hour ago.

Shakäste always said that calling her Stacey was fine, but Caduceus liked to give her the appropriate amount of respect; though the pair of them didn’t come around very often, he had a certain rapport with both man and dog that he didn’t want to lose.

There were so many of them now, and more coming with every passing day, it seemed. He was still doing everything he could to make sure they were all comfortable and fed, but without some sort of income, he knew it couldn’t keep looking after them the way they all deserved, after the troubles and harshness they’d experienced

He glanced towards the accounts book, where Caleb’s pencil was tapping rhythmically against the page as he went over the numbers once again. It sounded a little bit too much like a clock ticking the time away. He _ knew _ he needed to get something sorted out, but there was something stopping him. What was stopping him? Why couldn’t he just -

“Hey.” Nott popped up out of nowhere, her small form all bundled up for a trip outside. Her scarf, recently washed and much whiter than it had been in a long time, was once again wrapped securely over the lower half of her face, and her long hair had been styled into two plaits that hung forward over her shoulders. She looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on? You look miserable.” She moved closer to Caleb and peered up at his face. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine, Schatz,” Caleb assured her, patting her shoulder. “We are looking at the numbers. It is...not great.”

“Oh.” Nott stood on her tiptoes and leaned over to look at the book. “Do you want some help?”

“You know I always want your help,” Caleb said, “but you are going out, ja? You have somewhere to be?” He waved his hand up and down, gesturing to her hat, coat, and boots. 

Nott grinned - or at least, the corners of her eyes crinkled, so one could assume she was grinning. “Jester and I are going into town!” she announced. “We’re going to send a letter to her mum, then scout out a good place to do the carol singing, then Jester told me about this cafe her and Fjord went to where the guy who runs it gave them _ free cakes _, so we’re going to see what we can score.”

“Just the two of you? You are braver than me.” Caleb smiled down at her sweetly, and the change was so drastic compared to his seriousness only moments before that he almost looked like a different person. “Be very careful, ja? Come back here if the snow starts again.” He reached up absentmindedly and rubbed the side of his bandaged head.

“Do you want me to bring you anything?”

“I would like you to bring yourself back in one piece, Schatz. Jester as well.” He patted her on the head. “You go and have a good time, do not worry about me.”

“You’ll take care of him, won’t you, Caduceus?” Nott turned to face him, waiting for some sort of response. “Caduceus? Deucey? Hello?” She tapped his leg sharply, her nails digging into the fabric of his trousers.

Caduceus blinked, and it was then he realised that he’d just been watching the two of them and hadn’t actually formed a thought of his own in the last five minutes. He was really out of it this morning, huh. He played the conversation back in his head, then looked down at Nott and nodded reassuringly. “Sure. He’ll be fine, I can keep an eye on him.”

“Hmm.” Nott didn’t seem convinced. “I mean it. Look after my boy, because I’ll know if you don’t.” She clamped her hands on her hips and gave him a long, hard stare. Caduceus stared back, unsure what she was looking for; eventually, she must have found it, because she gave Caleb’s outstretched hand a quick squeeze then walked back across the hall to meet Jester so they could leave.

“I am sorry about that,” Caleb muttered, leaning forward so he could speak in a low voice. His smile was gone again; now he just looked awkwardly bashful. “She is very protective of me.”

“How long have you been...together?” Caduceus was grateful for a distraction from having to talk about the accounts - especially after having to wrestle through the pages himself a couple of days before - but he had to admit, he was genuinely curious about the odd couple that was Caleb Widogast and Nott the Brave. Now they’d settled in, they were both starting to come out of their respective shells, and he wanted to get to know them a little better.

This was something he was good at; talking to people, helping them feel comfortable, getting them to open up a little and work through stuff that was bothering them. Once upon a time, when the rest of the Clays had been around and he hadn’t been in charge of everything going on in the house, it had been all he’d done. Being homeless took its toll on people, and it could do them the world of good to talk things through, or even just have someone lend a sympathetic ear. Caduceus had been happy to do exactly that, and it always made him feel good to help someone.

He hadn’t been able to focus on that for a long time. Too many other things to think about. And now it turned out that it hadn’t done much good anyway; the house would have to close, and he couldn’t think about how to fix it without starting to spiral. He wasn’t meant for this kind of responsibility. People, he could work with; life could be a lot.

“Caduceus?” Caleb was watching him, concerned. “Are you alright? I have been talking and I do not think you have heard a word I have said.”

Caduceus opened his mouth, but for once words failed him. He tried once again to sip from his empty cup, just to give himself something to hold onto for a moment.

“You are shaking.” Caleb started looking around the room, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else around, or at least anyone else awake. Nott and Jester had gone, Beauregard had curled into a snoring lump on one of the couches, and the little blonde girl from earlier had apparently vanished. “Scheiße. I am...I am not good at this sort of thing.” He flapped his hands a little, ineffectually, and started fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper while collecting his thoughts. “Okay. Okay. Listen to me. You do not like the numbers, ja?”

“Not really, no.” Caduceus took a deep breath and let it out slowly - it took a little concentration, but he managed it. “We don’t get along so well.”

“Well, I do. Not a lot of things in the world make sense or are comforting to me. I like numbers because they are, uh...wie sagt man auf Deutsch...they do not change? They are always what they are.” He grimaced, as though frustrated that he couldn’t quite articulate what was inside his head. “I could do it, if you do not like it, I could do it.”

For the first time, some of the weight gathered on Caduceus’s shoulders began to fall away, but he didn’t dare pin all his hopes on it just yet. “What are you saying, Mr Caleb?” he asked tentatively.

Caleb sort of half-folded his arms and gripped his sleeves, clenching and unclenching the fabric in his fingers over and over like a kitten padding its mother’s belly. Eventually, he raised his head and fixed Caduceus with all the intensity his powerful blue eyes had to offer. “I want to help you.”

Caduceus immediately shook his head and held up his hands to stop him. “I can’t ask that of you, Mr Caleb. I’m supposed to be helping you -”

“But you cannot do that if the house has to close down, ja?” Caleb glanced away again. “You have...you have given me more in the last few days than I have had for a very long time. You have opened your doors to me, and to Nott, and given us so much. I do not want this place to be gone, and I think, neither do you. I cannot be sure that I will be able to fix it, but if I look at the books I can at least try. And you do not have to do anything until I have something to tell you. You can do whatever it is that you need to do for, ah, for Christmas. So everyone can have something.”

It was the most Caduceus had ever heard him say. It was stilted, and nervous, and unsure of itself, like the very idea wanted to bolt from Caleb’s mind but he had forced it out through his mouth.

It warmed Caduceus’s heart. “Thank you, Mr Caleb, that’s very kind of you.”

“Ja, ja. I will...I will get on.” Caleb picked up his pencil and once again buried himself in the book. It appeared that his outburst might be the most anyone would get out of him for the rest of the day.

Smiling to himself and swallowing down the lump in his throat, Caduceus got up to fetch more tea.


	11. But you came along, I swear you saved my life

**Wandering through the snowy streets and looking at the beautiful party dresses in all the shop windows, **Nott had to admit it was nice to have a friend who understood that sort of thing. She loved Caleb deeply, of course she did, would follow him to the ends of the earth and back, but hanging out with Jester had started to make her think that maybe it wouldn’t be such a waste of time if she thought about herself sometimes too.

She hadn’t even considered such a thing in ages, preferring to hide herself away and gradually form a rough, almost feral persona to shield her from...well, everything. The places she’d been over the last couple of years, the life she’d fallen into, it had become necessary to take what she could and fight to keep it. She’d had to learn to survive in a world that didn’t give a shit about her, growing sharp edges to keep others away, and then after falling in with Caleb she’d neglected herself even more.

Perhaps it was time to focus on what she wanted. Just for a little while, before they had to move on.

She realised she was trailing behind as she window-shopped and daydreamed, and she picked up speed to fall into step beside Jester, who glanced down at her and smiled.

“Your scarf is slipping a little,” she said, pointing. Her hand reached out to adjust it, but stopped at the last second. Her expression moved through oh shit-I’m sorry-that was rude-but it’s fine-I didn’t actually do it right-quick change the subject in roughly a second before it settled back into a smile. “So you wanna look for a carolling spot or try and get cake first?”

“I think cake’ll be a good reward for a job well done,” Nott said, smoothing the edges of her scarf back over her nose. She glanced at her reflection in the nearest shop window, just to check everything was covered as it should be, and her attention was caught by a glimmer of golden yellow, a gentle ripple of fabric, a dress - the most beautiful, elegant, delicate dress she’d ever seen.

“Oh...” she breathed, and before she knew what she was doing she had her hands pressed against the glass. The dress was shiny and shimmery under the spotlights of the window display, with skirts that flowed like champagne and shiny silver buttons on the bodice. The mannequin was roughly her height; the image of herself reflected ghost-pale in the glass overlaid it as if it had been _ made _ for her. Further past the display, inside the shop - which appeared to be a tiny place stuffed full of vintage clothes and jewellery that somehow hadn’t been swallowed up by the huge grey monoliths of buildings either side of it - a young woman sat at the little counter reading a book. She glanced up and caught Nott’s eye, smiling as if to welcome her inside. 

Nott’s fingers twitched, as if she could reach through the window and touch the soft fabric of the golden dress. Forced sobriety over the last few days had made her a bit more grabby, and she suddenly wanted so badly to clutch at this fairytale image of herself that it almost hurt.

Someone bumped into her hard, pushing her against the window - such were the many perils of being small - and the spell was broken. She swayed, losing her balance on the slippery pavement, but Jester was there to grab her elbow and keep her upright. 

“Watch where you’re going, dickhole!” Jester cried. She flipped the bird with both hands, then reached down and patted Nott’s shoulder. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” She turned her head to see what she’d been looking at, and gasped. “Oh, Nott. That’s so pretty! Are you gonna try it on?”

“Oh, no.” Nott turned away from the window decisively - or at least, her movements were decisive. Her heart was yelling at her to stop being so silly, you want it, of course you do. “That’s...that’s not me.”

“What?!” Jester gaped. “But it would look so great on you though!”

Nott hesitated. Maybe it wouldn’t do any harm to just try it on...and she might be able to swipe something. She’d spotted a lot of interesting sparkly things in there that would make excellent additions to the collection stuffed under Caleb’s bed back at Clay House.

She took a deep breath and stepped towards the shop door.

“Wait, no.” Jester took her hand and pulled her back. “We’re not doing that.”

“What?” Nott frowned. “I thought -”

“Well yeah, I mean, we totally are, but we’re going somewhere else first.” Jester beamed down at her in the way that Nott had quickly learned meant she had a plan, and you were going to go along with it whether you liked it or not. Jester had a very powerful personality. “We’re gonna give you a makeover!” She flung her arms out with some enthusiastic jazz hands for emphasis. 

Nott was too surprised to respond at first, but managed to gather her senses a few moments later. “Jester, that’s sweet, but people pay for those. They say they’re free but they really aren’t. And I don’t know, I mean…” She waved awkwardly at her face, then let her arms slump at her sides, dejected. “Look at me.”

“Nott!” Jester’s face fell into a sad pout. She reached out and clasped Nott’s hands in hers, dropping down to her knees on the cold, slushy ground so they were eye-level. “You’re beautiful, and smart, and you can do so much, and you’re just like, really cool, you know? We don’t even have to do it with a person, maybe we could just get some samples and do some stuff around your eyes or something, I don’t know, the point is it’s _ fun, _I used to do that with my mama’s makeup stuff all the time and it’s like the best thing ever for when you don’t feel good about how you look. And you should have some fun! Everyone should have some fun. It’s Christmas!”

“I…” Nott swallowed hard and clenched her hands into tight, nervous fists inside the sleeves of her borrowed coat. “Okay, maybe we could try just a little?”

“Don’t be so scared! I’ll look after you, I promise.” Jester squeezed her fingers gleefully, then stood up and started pulling her along. “Come on! We’re going to make you look _ so _ pretty, it will totally blow Caleb’s mind!”

Caught off guard, Nott stumbled as they rounded a corner. “Caleb? What about him?”

“Well isn’t he like...you know...aren’t you two…” Jester bit her lip as she started to realise her mistaken assumption. “You’re, like, together?”

“No!” Nott could feel her cheeks flushing underneath her scarf, and before she could stop it, a somewhat dopey smile spread across her face. She thanked the stars Jester couldn’t really see it. “He’s very handsome -”

“When he’s not all dirty and stinky.”

“- but he’s not for me, you know? I haven’t thought about...anyone, that way, for a very long time.” Suddenly she felt like she needed to sit down. She came to a stop and curled up on the ground next to a wide shop window, flattening herself against it as much as possible so nobody else barged into her. Jester joined her, sliding down into a crouch and huddling against her. She took off her hat and set it on the ground in front of them, with a shrug of “we might as well” in response to Nott’s questioning look.

“Nott,” she said carefully, leaning in so her low voice could be heard above the bustle of the street, “are you just saying stuff like that because you don’t think you’re pretty enough or something? Because you totally are, you know. You could have anyone in the world!”

Nott shook her head. “It’s not that.” The words were stuck in her throat. How to explain it? She fiddled with her newly styled braids as she thought, twisting the ends between her cold fingers. “I...we...I care about him a lot. He’s taught me so much, and he looked at me when nobody else would, and we’ve had each other’s backs for ages now, but our relationship is more like…” She paused as a coin was thrown onto the hat in front of them, and croaked out a thank you to a passing woman. Then, she heaved another deep sigh and turned to face Jester properly. “Our relationship’s more like a parent and child.”

Jester looked perplexed, her mouth twisting as she tried to understand. “And...Caleb is the parent?”

“No.” Nott chuckled under her breath and shook her head again. “Caleb barely remembers to eat half the time, no, _ I’m _the parent. I take care of him, keep him safe, as much as I can. I mean, I thought he was very handsome when we first met, and I still do. I’m happy to support him in whatever he wants to do, I’ll be by his side as long as he wants me there and I’ll always try and put him first when I can, but it’s never going to happen. In another life, maybe.”

A few more coins landed on Jester’s hat in the ensuing silence. Nott reached out and scooped them into her pocket. She wondered if Jester was going to say anything; she almost wished she would, just a stupid joke or a comment on the weather, something to change the subject and stop her getting tangled up in her thoughts.

“How old are you?”

Nott jumped. _ That _ was certainly a subject change. “I’m...of...childbearing age,” she said at last, wincing at how strange that sounded. Apparently numbers were too difficult to say? How fucking awkward and weird could she be? She groaned inwardly.

“That’s a weird thing to say,” Jester commented, affirming Nott’s thoughts. “And what does that _ mean _, anyway? Like, are you fifteen or are you my age or are you in your, like, thirties or something?”

“Around the same as you,” Nott hedged. The ends of her braids were in danger of snapping, she was twisting them so tightly. “People think I’m a lot younger. Like _ Fjord _ .” She said his name like it left a bitter taste in her mouth. They’d reached a sort of truce over the last few days, but _ oh _ it had pissed her off when he’d talked down to her like that. It was different when she and Caleb had done it to trick people; at least then it had been on her terms. She’d mastered the art of curling against Caleb’s side, sobbing and shivering pathetically while he murmured soft words into her hair and quietly thanked anyone who stopped to coo and drop coins. “It’s helpful sometimes.” She gestured towards the soggy hat on the ground.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Jester looked thoughtful for a moment. “Is that why you hide your face? So people think you’re a kid or whatever and maybe they’re, like, more willing to give you stuff?”

Nott froze in the middle of clinking the coins in her pocket together, as a change from destroying her braids. “That’s something else,” she said after a long pause. “That’s...yeah.”

“Oh.” Mercifully, Jester didn’t push for more of an answer; she must have sensed that Nott_ really _didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, she gathered her skirts and stood up once more, pasting a big smile across her face. “Well, we don’t have to do the makeover thing if it makes you super uncomfortable! We could just do the carolling stuff and then try and find some cake from that nice big guy with the curly hair. We can do whatever you like!” 

She was trying very, very hard to sound cheerful, and every word was twisting into a hot ball of guilt that sat heavy in Nott’s chest. She grimaced beneath her scarf and squirmed awkwardly. She’d only known Jester for a few days but already she’d fallen under her spell. Upsetting Jester felt like torturing a kitten, especially when she hit you with those big, round, sad eyes that were such a deep and intense shade of blue they were almost violet. Nott was glad she’d never known anyone with violet-blue eyes before - Caleb’s were extraordinarily blue as well, but lighter, like the sky - if they were capable of making her feel so uncomfortable.

Fucking hell, she needed a drink. Stupid emotional vulnerability.

“Let’s go and do makeup,” she heard herself saying, “just a little. It...might be fun.”

Jester hesitated. “Really?”

“Really.” Nott clambered to her feet, shaking the numbness out of her legs with a little jig on the spot. Her feet were damp and painful, and she groaned as the pins and needles started to attack her flesh. At the very least, hunting for makeup might get her out of the cold for a little while.

“Are you sure?” Jester bit her lip, blinked, then hit Nott with the full force of her ‘I just want you to be happy even if it disappoints me’ face. It wasn’t as though she was being deliberately manipulative - Nott knew she wasn’t like that, at least not with her - but damn if she couldn’t cut to the core of your soul and make you question why you ever refused her anything. “You don’t have to, it was just a dumb idea.”

“I want to!” Nott assured her, patting her leg. “I do, I just...can we take it slow? I haven’t worn makeup for a while, and I’ve never known how to do it right.” _ And you haven’t shown anyone but Caleb your face for almost a year, you can barely look at yourself in a mirror anymore, you hide yourself away from the world as much as you can… _“Not like you!”

“Aw, thank you, Nott!” Jester grinned down at her and bent into a quick curtsey. “But, you know, I had to learn that too. I bet if you practised you could be _ really _ good at it, I mean you’re good at so much stuff already!”

“Oh, well…” Nott shrugged and tried not to blush, even if she knew Jester couldn’t see it. “My talents lie elsewhere, really.”

They started walking again, Jester chattering away excitedly about what she thought Nott might like - “Maybe blue, do you like blue? It would look super nice around your eyes! And we could try some glitter, just a tiny bit...” - and seamlessly navigating the busy streets with all the grace of a dancer in her beaten-up boots. Nott, meanwhile, was once again becoming familiar with the biggest problem she’d ever known as a small person in a crowd; when all you could see was a forest of legs and shopping bags, directions no longer existed. It was all she could do to cling to Jester’s hand and hope they were going the right way until they finally emerged in the town square. 

With it only being late morning, the Christmas lights weren’t switched on, but the square was still very pretty with its dusting of light snow and the big tree by the bandstand. Peering about as they crossed the cobbles, Nott noticed a few people curled up on the ground with cardboard signs and caps by their feet, and her heart twisted a little. Part of her wanted to run over to them, to tell them about this place they could go where the food was warm and the beds were...well, not really _ really _ comfortable, but certainly better than sleeping on an icy pavement, even as another part of her wondered what the point would be if the house would have to close soon, and yet another part marvelled at how quickly she was wanting to help other people. Maybe being around others besides Caleb had done her some good.

“Oh, I love this! I’ll be right back!” Jester let go of her hand and ran towards the huge Christmas tree, her eyes wide in awe of the shimmering golden stars adorning the branches, and then a shiver ran down Nott’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold. She called out Jester’s name, but she was already gone.

The wintry air was shattered by a terrible screech of brakes as a bright blue car came barrelling towards the Christmas tree as if from nowhere. 

She didn’t think, didn’t yell, didn’t hesitate; she only ran, her little legs moving as fast as they could through the slush and snow strewn across the ground.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Jester looked up. A strangled cry froze on its way out of her mouth, and she ducked and crossed her arms over her head as if that would protect her.

The square filled with screams.

Nott squeezed her eyes shut as she ran that last few feet, barrelled into something warm and solid and smelling faintly of tea, and pushed as hard as she could to get Jester out of the way.

She thought of Yeza, of Luc, of Caleb.

Her boys.


	12. The little boy that Santa Claus forgot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Veloci, whose recent comment inspired me to dust off this fic and give it another go.
> 
> Some dialogue was lifted from CR2E72, 'Clay and Dust', both verbatim and adapted.
> 
> CW: blood, stab wounds, chest wounds, surgery. PLEASE let me know if I missed any!

**It was getting hard to breathe.**

Fjord staggered to one side and slammed into a wall before he could stop himself, one hand clamped tight over his chest.

“You alright, mate?” A man in a huge puffy coat paused in his journey home from the shops, hands laden with bags full to bursting. “Bit early, in’t it?”

“I’m fine,” FJord gasped, summoning a smile, though he could barely unclench his jaw enough to speak through the pain that flooded his body. “Just slipped, you know. Dangerous.” He gestured to the icy ground with his free hand.

“Sure.” The man gave him a funny look, then adjusted his shopping bags and carried on down the road. Fjord waited until he’d gone around the corner before shifting onto his back and leaning against the wall to catch what little breath he could.

_ Fuck. _ Fjord glanced down at himself and dared to lift his hand a little. His coat sleeve was dark and wet with blood, the warmth of it almost sickening. He coughed, and sharp pain twisted like a sword in his lungs. In spite of the freezing cold, he felt sweat dripping down his forehead. _ Fuck fuck fuck. _

He raised his head and tried to get his bearings, but all the streets looked the same no matter how long or how far he walked. The snow lining the roads was turning grey to match the clouds looming overhead, promising more snow. He didn’t want to get stuck out here when it started coming down again, but goddammit he just couldn’t remember where to go. He should have asked that guy where he was, how far he’d come, but he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was the high, cold laugh of Avantika, deep voices and yellow eyes that watched him...watched him…

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the images remained. The rational part of his mind, if there were such a thing right then, could keep telling him that the eyes were only tattoos, that the people who had them were just people, but the pain and cold and fear were making him question everything.

Why had they just let him run?

Did they even know he’d gone?

Were they following him?

_ Come on, idiot, think_. They’d been by the river, in one of the warehouses right on the edge of town. He’d been able to hear the rushing water from inside that dark, dark room, and then again, louder and louder as they’d walked him out to the railing and made him stare down into the depths.

A shiver ran over his skin. A baptism, Avantika had called it. A test of faith. She’d said that was how she’d earned her tattoos, that he could have one as well and be welcomed into the fold. All he had to do was trust in Uk’otoa...

He shivered again, his breath puffing out of his mouth in a thick cloud. He was so cold. He didn’t remember ever having been so cold. He forced himself onward, one foot in front of the other until he reached a crossroads and had to collapse against a wall once more. Leaning back and breathing hard, his foot slipped on the icy path and he plummeted, hitting the ground with a horrific thud that jarred his spine and made his chest explode with pain.

He screamed, then, and hot tears began to spill from his eyes. All of a sudden he was a little lost boy again, crying in the darkest corner of the orphanage, hiding from kids who were always bigger than him, stronger than him, meaner than him. That was always the way, wasn’t it? Anything he tried to do, any time he tried to make his life better or even carve out a little space for himself in the world, he was left behind. What was the use in trying to be a good man, if every time he tried he lost his nerve?

And how easy it had been, to fall back into a world he desperately wanted to leave behind.

No, not fall. Falling implied you had no choice. The moment he had decided not to immediately tear up Avantika’s letter and maybe burn it for good measure, he might as well have jumped.

Even then he’d turned and run away from Uk’otoa’s offer, and look where it had gotten him - frozen and bleeding to death on an unfamiliar city street, no way of calling for help or making his way back to the one place he knew where people would be willing, always, to help him. He couldn’t do anything right.

Pain pulsed under his hands. He pressed them hard against his wound, hard enough to feel his heartbeat, and tried not to retch. _ Stupid boy. Coward. _The tears kept falling, and his eyelids began to flutter as his head swam with agony and self-degradation.

He found himself thinking of Jester. Apparently that was a thing that happened now; when he felt like shit, he thought about Jester. What would she do, if she never saw him again? Would she be sad? Disappointed? Would she...try and find him? He chuckled suddenly, wincing as he imagined her scouring the streets of the city with a giant magnifying glass and a mulish expression on her pretty face. 

_ No. _

Because then she might find him, and he couldn’t even bear to imagine seeing her upset. She was the last person he would ever want to make cry, and if he died here she would, wouldn’t she? They were friends, weren’t they? She’d be upset if...if…

The next thing he knew, there was pale sunlight beating against his eyelids. Everything hurt and yet he was numb with cold, and he could sense somebody very close to him. They were speaking, though he couldn’t really make it out. He tried to say something in return and found his mouth wouldn’t work.

“Eh, there’s life in him yet! Come on, Khemdal, give us a hand. Tyla! Get the doors!”

Fjord felt strong hands gripping him firmly under his arms, and another pair holding his ankles. They lifted him and he groaned in pain, trying and failing to cover his chest. His hands wouldn’t cooperate, and he could do nothing to stop these people, whoever they were, from picking him up and slowly moving him towards something he couldn’t see. He tried opening his eyes and the world rippled before him like he was moving underwater. He closed them again.

He didn’t recognise the voices; they didn’t sound like anyone who’d been at that warehouse. That was something, at least. 

He heard the sound of doors being unlocked and creaking open, and then a few loud thuds as someone clambered on top of something very close by. A third pair of hands gripped his biceps and heaved, and he was suddenly lying flat on a cool, hard surface. It was a little warmer out of the wind, and became warmer still when a blanket was placed over his legs and something soft was tucked under his head. The doors were slammed shut, cutting off the sounds of the biting winter night.

“Bloody hell,” came that voice again, the one giving instructions. It sounded like an elderly woman, her tone soft yet steely. Fjord heard the flick of a pocket knife and listened with a curious sense of detachment as she cut the front of his shirt open. Small, firm hands prodded very carefully around the wound. “It’s alright, lad. We’ll get you to a hospital, eh? You’ll be fine, you’re a strong one, I’m sure.” Somewhere, a key was turned in an ignition and an old engine started to growl.

Fjord grunted and tried to sit up. “No! No…” He moaned and crashed back onto what he now realised must be the floor of a van, clenching his teeth against the pain. “No...hospital...”

“No? Alright then, but we won’t leave you here.” The woman patted his shoulder. “Where to?”

He took a moment to answer, breathing hard through his nose. He was terrified, hoping against hope that he wasn’t getting into yet more trouble, but he had to trust these people. “Clay...Clay House. Clay House.”

“Oh, aye, we know that place. Good family, them.” The woman raised her voice. “Ichabod! The lad says Clay House, step on it!”

The van lurched and started to move, driving as fast as possible along the icy roads. Fjord moaned and winced at every bump they passed over, trying to brace himself against the floor but finding no purchase with his frozen fingers. The old woman, who said her name was Jeramess, helped him stay in one place and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. She stroked his brow and tried to rub some feeling back into his hands, kept a cloth wadded up and pressed tight against his chest, and all the while talked to him in a low voice as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

At one point, her voice blended with another and then fell away entirely, and Fjord’s head was filled with the warm tones of a woman he didn’t remember ever having met - or was it still Jeramess? She sounded different though, motherly and reassuring in a way that made him think of cool breezes and spring sunshine and budding plants, of life moving on.

_ “You have been lost, caught in a dark current and undertow...but I can help you carry the burden…” _

The van turned another corner and came to a slow stop. Doors opened, deep voices flew to and fro, and the cold wind crept through the back of the van to nip at Fjord’s ankles. Jeramess tucked the blankets around him and waited by his side.

Fjord’s breathing had become very shallow. He was finding it very hard to stay awake. The cold wasn’t so bad; it was quite nice, in fact, if he let it fill him, flood through his veins and render his whole body numb to everything, no pain, no worries. He was safe in the van, wasn’t he, and he could let go...listen to that voice and...drift away…

“Mr Fjord?” There was a scrambling next to him, and Jeramess huffed as if pushed aside. It felt like someone took his hand, someone whose hand was larger than his. “Mr...oh, dear.”

He opened his eyes, very slowly. The world wasn’t swimming any more, but all he could make out of the worried face above him was a long braid of pink hair and a pair of wide, terrified eyes. “Ca...duceus…”

“Hey.” Now that he’d heard him speak, Caduceus relaxed a fraction and began politely issuing instructions. After a few minutes, Fjord was carried out of the van and into the comforting familiarity of Clay House as quickly as his rescuers could manage, then laid out on one of the tables which had been covered with a sheet.

There was a flurry of motion around him. Fjord was barely able to keep track of the blurs of colour and shapes, the fingers on his neck checking his pulse, his eyes being forced open and a light flashing across his gaze. He was brought back to reality with a jolt when his face was clamped between strong fingers and a familiar shouty voice rang in his ears. 

“What the fuck? What the fuck?!” Beau’s tears rained down on him as she pulled him against her and squeezed him as tight as she dared. “Fjord? Where the hell have you been, man? What -”

“Beauregard.” Caduceus’s deep voice cut through her panic like a church bell. He sounded incredibly calm, speaking almost in a monotone, which having spent some time around him Fjord knew meant he was extremely worried. “You’re the fastest. I need hot water, towels, bandages, antiseptic, needle and thread. Don’t tell Jester, she has to keep an eye on Nott. Go.”

_ Nott? What’s happened to Nott? _Fjord tried to shape the question with his cracked and frozen lips, but Caduceus shushed him.

“Don’t even...yeah. I’m not even going to - just - I’m not even going to ask. You really effed yourself up, didn’t you? Let’s just get this out of the way.” He kept up a steady stream of chatter, talking to himself more than anything, as he gently manoeuvred Fjord’s body so he could strip away his clothes. The bloodied remains of his shirt stuck to his skin, unwilling to part, and Fjord tried not to gag as the last scraps were peeled off. Once he was lying only in his underwear, Caduceus started to rub his hands along his arms and legs, moving each of his fingers and toes in turn, trying to get some feeling and warmth back into his body.

Any other time, Fjord would have been extremely self-conscious to have himself so much on display, but all he could do right then was lie there in mute gratitude and let Caduceus get on with it. He opened one eye a fraction and willed himself to focus, and he was able to make out the grim lines of Caduceus’s face as he worked. His eyes were rimmed red and deeply shadowed as if he hadn’t slept. It was morning now; had he been up all night?

“Beau. I need you.”

“Here!” Beau skidded to a halt next to the table and dropped a bundle of fabric and a large blue plastic bottle onto one of the seats, then disappeared again out of the range of Fjord’s limited vision. She returned seconds later, carefully carrying a mixing bowl full of water, with a pocket sewing kit clamped between her teeth.

Caduceus let out a little sigh of relief. “Thanks. Can you stay? I might need an extra hand.”

Beau’s gaze flicked to Fjord’s face, then up at the ceiling, then to his chest. She set her jaw, and for a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment her hand encircled his wrist and squeezed, like she was reminding herself he was still there. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. What can I do?”

They worked almost in silence, Caduceus directing Beau to press here, clean there, hold this or that. Fjord found it a little surreal, and his mind wandered to horror stories of hospital patients waking up while supposedly under anaesthesia, listening to the clinical conversation of surgeons and nurses while they laid numb and horrified. He wasn’t scared, though, because he knew he could trust these two with his life.

Then Beau pushed a wadded-up towel into his mouth, and Caduceus began stitching him up, and Fjord’s thoughts turned to swear words and vengeance - but only briefly. It was over soon enough, and after a quick dash by Beau to the upstairs linen closet, Fjord was clean, stitched up, bandaged, and wrapped securely in blankets that filled him with wonderful, wonderful warmth. His chest still hurt, but it was a dull hurt, one that could perhaps be ignored if he closed his eyes and sank into the comfort. He listened to Caduceus tidying up, thanking Beau, shuffling off to the kitchen. It sounded like home. Avantika and Uk'otoa and cold water and eyes were far, far away right then, because these people gave a shit about him.

And the ones who'd brought him here, them too. They'd saved his life. He wondered who they were. Jeramess had said she knew the Clays, so maybe he could track them down sometime and say thanks in person. That would be nice.

"Hey." The soap-and-tea-leaves smell of Caduceus filled his nostrils. "You okay to sit up a little? I brought you a drink."

Slowly, Fjord nodded, and together they managed to sit him up a little. He lifted his arms, wincing as he curled and straightened his fingers, but with Caduceus’s hand at his back and a warm cup of tea to hold he felt...okay. Not great, but not terrible, and certainly not almost dead. He took a sip, let the heat flow through him.

Caduceus kept his hand where it was, supporting him. "So, um...how did that happen?"

Fjord looked into the depths of his cup intently. "I...got stabbed."

"Uh-huh." The taller man was watching him in that intensely calm way he had, where he wasn't doing anything to make you talk but you still felt compelled to tell him everything. 

"There were...some people." Fjord sighed. "I was involved in what I suppose you could call business, with one of them, a few years ago. She asked to meet me. She's part of...something new, now."

Caduceus frowned. "Something bad?"

"Yes. And she wanted me to be a part of it too, she was making all sorts of promises about how we could be...together, be something more than what we are, and I was listening to her. It went against all my better judgement but I wanted _ so badly _ to be part of something again, I..." He gulped tea that was a little too hot to drink and cleared his throat. "And then they started threatening me."

"And?" Caduceus prompted.

Fjord shook his head, his handsome face slipping into a scowl. "I don't like being a hostage."

Caduceus nodded sagely. "How do you feel?"

"I honestly don't know. Part of me...in spite of it all, part of me feels like I've made a mistake. Like that was my shot, you know? And I didn't take it, and now I'm...nothing."

"Well, I assure you that's not true," Caduceus said, watching him over the rim of his own teacup. Fjord noticed then that the sleeves of his baggy white shirt were stained and smudged with blood. He scratched the shaved side of his head, where the hair was getting long enough to sprout little tufts around his ear, and smiled. He looked exhausted.

Fjord’s heart thudded hard in his chest like it was trying to remind him he was alive. His mouth was suddenly very dry, and he took another sip of his tea. “Thank you.” He reached back with his free hand and let it rest on Caduceus’s outstretched arm. “Seriously. Thank you, for...being here, and taking care of us all, sharing this place with us. I’m inspired by you.” The words startled him - he hadn’t been thinking about it, but now he’d said it, he knew it was true. Here was the type of person he really wanted to be.

“For what it’s worth,” Caduceus said, “those words alone make me feel like this place is entirely worthwhile. I think there are great things ahead of you, and if I can give you somewhere to plant your feet so you can grow to get there, then I…” He trailed off, cheeks a little flushed, and took a moment to think. “Where did you go, by the way?”

Fjord shifted uncomfortably. “A hotel, at first. And then a warehouse by the river. They, _ he_, the leader, Uk'otoa. He wanted me to jump in, but I refused.”

Caduceus raised his eyebrows approvingly. “They weren’t happy with that decision, huh.”

He glanced down at his chest, where the fresh bandages made it all seem very far away, and didn’t say anything.

“Well, I’d say that’s a good first step.” Caduceus patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you’ve...I don’t think you’re free yet.”

Fjord’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“Just that...it sounds to me like they wanted you, they were willing to go quite a long way to get you. They might not have come to this town looking for you, but once that woman knew you were here, well.”

Eyebrows knit together, Fjord continued to drink his tea and tried not to worry too much about that fact. Maybe they’d leave him alone, maybe they didn’t think he could have survived and they wouldn’t come looking for him. He’d have to keep a low profile, stay in the House more, but then he’d have to do that anyway if he wanted to recover properly. He’d be pretty useless for a while. “Caduceus,” he murmured, “I may be a liability now.”

“I entirely disagree,” Caduceus replied. “I think you’re valuable.” He made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, and Fjord felt himself blushing as he watched him gather up the remnants of the impromptu operation and tuck a bundle under his arm to be washed. “You gonna be okay here for a bit?”

He nodded, let his empty cup be taken from him, and leaned back on his elbows to watch Caduceus go about his business. He took the cups to the kitchen counter, stuffed the bundle of laundry into the machine, and scribbled a couple of additions on the shopping list attached to the fridge. It was quite pleasant to watch; grounding, reminding Fjord that he was in a place he could call home, a place with a routine and soft blankets and friendly faces.

Then he remembered something.

“Caduceus,” he called across the room. “What...you said...something happened to Nott?”

“Oh.” Caduceus turned from where he’d been about to ascend the stairs. He looked very sad all of a sudden, and Fjord’s heart sank. “Right.”


	13. A face on a lover with a fire in his heart

**Caleb hadn’t moved the entire night.** He sat rigid and sleepless in a spindly chair that creaked and complained under even his slender weight, twisting the same old piece of ratty string between his fingers over and over again, his mind a mess of worry and fear and bitter memories.

Nott was lying in the bed beside him, her little body seeming so much smaller underneath all the blankets and bandages. She was still asleep. Her forehead was wrapped up in swathes of white, her arms patched with gauze. The scarf she always wore had been taken away and was folded neatly on top of the little chest of drawers by the bed, exposing her scarred and haggard face to the world. It didn’t look right. Her left leg was in a cast and strapped tightly to a splint that made it stick out in what looked a very uncomfortable way, though he knew it was for the best, to stop her moving it around too much.

He knew it was all for the best, that she was being looked after, that it could have been so much worse...but he hated to see it. Nott didn’t get hurt; Nott was invincible. He was the weak one. If she could break, what hope was there for him?

He straightened out the string once more, then began to weave it between the fingers of his right hand like a pastry lattice on top of a pie. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten pie. Perhaps it had been one his mother had made.

There were raised voices outside the door. He stiffened, suddenly feeling as though he needed to run, yet not wanting to leave Nott’s side - and then he relaxed, because he knew those voices. It was Beau and Jester, talking about something in frantic hushed whispers. Jester sounded only a little calmer than she had earlier, when the telephone had rung and Caduceus had been busy in the kitchen and Caleb, making himself take a break from poring over the accounts book, had picked it up.

He would carry the memory of her terrified voice for the rest of his life.

It had been difficult to get the details out of her at first, through her tears and her accent and the way her voice rose higher and higher in pitch when she was agitated. She had been babbling about a tree, the town square, an accident, and it had only been once he’d fetched Caduceus and put Jester on speakerphone so he could interpret that they got to the crux of the matter.

Nott had been hit by a car.

Moreover, Nott had pushed Jester out of the way and been hit by a car that was meant for her. She had saved Jester’s life. 

He stole another glance at the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of Nott’s chest with a keen eye, thinking about the last conversation they’d had.  _ “You go and have a good time, do not worry about me." _

It was somehow enough and not enough to see her lying there. He could have very easily convinced himself that she was an illusion, that his mind was trying to prevent him from realising what had truly happened, yet he was also afraid to reach out and touch her, to confirm her existence, in case she disappeared beneath his fingertips. He sighed and ran his hands through his too-long hair for the umpteenth time instead. His throat felt thick and painful, and he realised he was going to cry at last. His eyes had been trying to all night.

He let it come, covered his eyes with his hands and let the warm tears coat his palms and seep into the cuffs of yet another oversized jumper he’d been given. Brown, this time, with two horizontal stripes of orange and cream across the chest. It smelled like tea, like everything here. This place that...that they’d found together, that Nott had helped him come to so he could get better - and he was better, and now it would make her better. It had to.

He rubbed his eyes fiercely, trying to scrub away the images of Nott’s broken form being carried into Clay House in the arms of an inconsolable Jester, who’d absolutely refused to let go of her until Caduceus had asked her to help with treating Nott’s wounds. Luckily - Caleb snorted to himself.  _ Luckily _ . - while her injuries were serious, they weren’t too serious to be beyond the capabilities of Caduceus and Jester. 

They hadn’t taken her to the hospital. Caleb had been adamant on the phone that they weren’t to take her to the hospital, not when she couldn’t pay for anything and they would ask all sorts of questions that nobody knew the answers to, not even him. Instead, Caduceus had contacted someone called Essek, who knew the city very well and had transport that was suitable for driving very quickly through snow-covered streets.

Essek had turned out to be a man around Caleb’s age, maybe older, smartly dressed, with dark skin and a quiet manner that didn’t give much away. He had been almost unreasonably calm in the face of Jester’s panic, dropping them off in his large silver van right outside the door of Clay House as if he were merely bringing them back from the shops. He hadn’t come in - Caleb hadn’t processed that at the time, with his mind elsewhere. He thought back now, in an attempt to quell his rising anxiety and the gasping breaths that burst from his mouth. Essek had been in a wheelchair; the van had been adapted for it. That made sense. Clay House was a good place but it was not particularly accessible…

“Oh.” 

Caleb glanced up to see a tired and fraught-looking Beauregard standing in the doorway. She was holding two plain white mugs that steamed gently. “Hey.”

“Hallo.” Caleb sniffed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He nodded towards the door. “What is the commotion?”

“Fjord’s back.” Beau’s voice was hoarse and her words were abrupt, which meant something bad had happened. To Caleb’s surprise, she kept on talking as she entered the room fully and kicked the door shut behind her. “I think he got, like, stabbed or some shit? He’s okay now. Jester’s with him.” It was a remarkably succinct, almost blasé, description of events. She held out one of the mugs for him to take.

A waft of cinnamon steam engulfed Caleb’s senses, and he took the mug gratefully. “Danke. I am...I am sorry. I did not know what was going on, if I -”

“Dude. There was nothing you could have done that Caduceus wasn’t doing already. It’s cool.” She looked around for somewhere to sit. They both realised at the same time that if she wanted a chair, she’d have to leave the room again and find one. Her eyes flicked to the bed and Caleb saw her immediately dismiss the idea. 

“Hold on.” He stood up, still a little shaky, and shifted over to the bed so Beauregard could have his seat. The mattress sank beneath him, but Nott lay undisturbed. 

“Uh. Thanks.” Beau turned the chair around and sat astride it, leaning forward and holding her mug of tea under her chin as if she could stare into its depths and unravel the secrets of the universe. After a moment of lingering silence, her eyes wandered over to Nott once more and came to rest on her ravaged face.

Caleb watched her process it for the first time - the scars, the distortion of her lips so they never quite met, the snarl of her teeth. Nott’s mouth was open, her jaw relaxed, and Beau could see it all.

“What the hell happened to her?” she asked bluntly. She took a sip of her tea and winced at the temperature. 

“I do not know.” Caleb shrugged. “She has never told me, and I have never wanted to ask. I believe if she did tell me, it would still not be my tale to tell to others, however.” 

“But don’t you wanna know?” Beau insisted. She was still transfixed on Nott’s face, her eyes tracing the pattern of scars over and over. 

Caleb shifted carefully across the bed so Nott was shielded behind him. He narrowed his eyes just a tad, and tilted his head in such a way that Beau was suddenly subjected to the full intensity of his clear blue gaze. “Of course I do,” he said in a low voice, “but I will not make her say anything. There are reasons that people keep secrets.” He looked away at last and took a sip of his own tea, letting the hot, rich spiciness flood his mouth. It was a clear signal that this particular conversation was going to stop.

He felt Beau watching at him in silence for a long time, as though she couldn’t quite believe he was being so firm. He didn’t blame her; up until now, she’d only seen him weak and feeble, or quiet and studious. He’d only had his own bandages removed a few hours ago, when Caduceus had come to check on Nott and decided to kill two birds with one stone while they were all in the same room. Caleb now had a very tender bruised spot close to his left temple and a burgeoning scar, though thankfully he hadn’t needed stitches. He’d had his fill of sharp things puncturing his skin.

“You really care about her, don’t you,” Beau said suddenly. She didn’t ask him - it was a simple statement of fact. 

Caleb met her gaze once more. “She is my greatest friend,” he said. Another statement of fact.

“How’d you guys meet?”

He chuckled, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into something that was almost a rueful smile. “I believe you would call it the, ah, drunk tank?” When Beau’s eyebrow quirked upwards in a silent question, his smile widened. “I was picked up off the street and stuck in there for the night, and Nott was there already. We spent a few hours getting to know each other a little, and then in the morning we decided to leave together.”

“Safety in numbers.” Beau nodded in understanding. 

“A little of that. And it is nice, sometimes, to have a person to talk to. Someone who understands, ja? And Nott, she…” He paused, swallowing hard against the rising lump in his throat. “Nott has always been able to see through my bullshit. She has had my back, always, and she has protected me in every way she can, and I, ah, I was here, I stayed here, I asked her...to bring herself back in one piece…” He realised with dismay that he was going to start crying again. He rubbed his eyes fiercely but it did nothing to stop the tears creeping down his face. 

Beau, to her credit, didn’t say a word. She waited quietly while Caleb tried to get himself under control, sipping her tea and occasionally shifting in her seat or scratching absently at the shaved sides of her head. Finally, when Caleb’s sobs had died down to the occasional sniff and gasping breath, she opened her mouth.

“I had a friend,” she said carefully. “Mollymauk.”

Caleb looked at her, but she was staring off towards the corner of the room and refused to meet his gaze. Her voice was one Caleb knew well - the kind of voice a person used when they were trying very hard not to get too caught up in painful memories. Her fingers were clamped tight around the cup in her hands.

“He was an asshole.” A flicker of a smile passed over her lips, and then it was gone. “He was loud, obnoxious, rude, flamboyant, he got on everyone’s nerves, and his clothes were terrible and he had all these stupid tattoos, but he thought he was like, god’s gift, you know? And I mean, he was more Yasha’s friend than mine.”

She paused, and in the silence Nott shifted in her sleep and let out a whimper. Caleb immediately placed his hand over hers with barely a thought.

“He drove me crazy. He was a fucking arrogant, narcissistic bastard, and I remember at first, like, my knee-jerk reaction to anything he said was to fight it? And then at some point, we...we started working the same corners together when Yasha wasn’t around, he’d do his tarot stuff and I’d just collect the money and keep an eye out for anyone who wanted to cause trouble, and it was a scam and we knew it and everyone else knew it, but…” Beau paused again though her mouth stayed open, as if her next words were afraid to come out. “He was so good at it. Even in his scams, when he was doing something shitty, he was still making people feel good or feel special. He could tell people exactly what they wanted to hear and make fucking  _ anyone _ smile, and he was, like, always going on at me about leaving places better than he found them, and I never really got it when it came from ‘cause I automatically thought he was just being a dick, or trying to wind me up? But he was right. He was right.”

Caleb looked at her - properly, in a way he hadn’t really done before. Beau was a pretty abrasive person and sometimes his instinct was still to avoid her attention in case he did something wrong, but now he took in the tension in her shoulders, her bitten fingernails drumming intermittently against the side of her mug, her bright blue eyes fixed on the corner of the room and swimming with memories. He thought about the photo he had seen on the wall downstairs, the figure with the purple hair and peacock tattoo. He wasn’t sure how to feel about Beau telling him all this. Was she trying to make him feel better?

“What happened to him?” he asked eventually.

Beau sniffed, then suddenly tipped up her mug and drained its contents in one gulp. Something about the motion made Caleb think she probably wished it was a substance much stronger than tea. “He died,” she croaked out, and coughed to clear her throat. “I mean, he was killed.”

Caleb said nothing, simply stroking his thumb across the back of Nott’s tiny hand, and waited.

“There was this guy,” Beau continued, “this total asshole. He was...picking up people off the streets, taking them...I don’t know. Somewhere. We all knew about him - there’d been rumours, and people we just didn’t see around anymore - and we all knew he was bad news, but like, would the police listen? Fuck no. Nobody gives a shit about people who can’t pay for stuff.” She smacked the back of the chair bitterly with the palm of her hand. The sudden noise made Caleb jump, and he glanced down at Nott in case he’d woken her, but she was dead to the world.

“Would you like to stop talking about this?” he asked Beau’s profile.

She snapped her head around to face him with a sudden glare. “I’ll decide when to stop talking,” she grumbled, and then as quickly as her anger had flared it subsided again. “Sorry. I just...I guess I’ve never really put it into words before. Everyone else who’s here on the regular knows what happened. It takes a little thinking.”

Caleb nodded. “Take your time. I understand.”

Beau peered at him, narrowing her eyes a little. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?” For a moment it seemed like she might be about to pry, but then she turned away again. “So we knew there was this bastard prowling the streets, looking for people without a place to go, and we agreed - me and Fjord and Jester, and Molly and Yasha - that if we went out we never went out alone. Buddy system.” She laughed suddenly, a hollow sound. “It was Cad’s idea. He’s always looking out for us, but he can’t be everywhere at once.”

Caleb made a noise of agreement but didn’t push.

It looked as though Beau might stop there, that it might be too painful, but finally, she let out an enormous sigh and shifted around in her seat to face him properly. “One night about a year ago, Fjord, Jester, and Yasha didn’t come back to the house. That’s not so weird for Yasha - she wanders around a lot - but the other two...anyways, me and Molly went out looking for them. We knew all their usual hangout spots. I mean, it was a shitty night so we didn’t think they’d be outside, but that was where we started. We were out there for hours.

“We saw this big van, blacked-out windows, driving real slow. Fucking suspicious. We followed it up to that old abandoned factory you get to before you reach the highway.” She looked at Caleb as if he might recognise what she was talking about, then seemed to remember that he didn’t know the town as well as she did. “The van parked up out front and we snuck in through the gates and hid and watched for a bit. This huge bald guy with all these tattoos down the side of his face came out to meet the van, and the drivers and a bunch of his cronies or whatever opened the doors, and there they were.”

Caleb swallowed hard. The description of these people, the man with the tattoos...it plucked at something in his memory. He carried on listening and didn’t speak. Not yet.

“The moment Molly saw Yasha get pulled out of that van, he just...ran forwards. Pulled a knife out of fucking nowhere and went for it. I couldn’t stop him.” Beau’s voice had dropped to an almost monotone, as though she were terrified to let any sort of emotion slip through in case it brought her crashing down. Caleb understood that, too. 

“But you got away, though, ja? You and the others.” 

“Yeah.” Her bottom lip was trembling. “They fought back, and we ran away - we had to. Couldn’t go back for him, not then. I made my way back a few days later. They’d left him there. Just lying...in the snow. He could have been asleep if it weren’t for the blood.”

“I am very sorry,” Caleb said, and he found that he deeply, truly meant it. He’d had no idea Beau was carrying so much pain around on those strong shoulders. 

“Thanks, man.”

“Where is Molly now?”

“Caduceus buried him in the garden. Planted a rose bush. Fuck knows what’ll happen to him if this place goes under, but like, I’m not gonna forget about him.” Beau sighed again and straightened her back, slowly beginning to pull herself together. Watching her so closely, Caleb was able to pinpoint the exact moment when her usual defensive mask fell back into place. “I think I need some sleep. You should, too.”

She took Caleb’s mug, which had gone cold as he was listening to her, and clutched it in one hand with her own. They clinked together softly.

“I hope...I hope she wakes up soon.” 

“As do I,” Caleb murmured. “Get some rest, Beauregard.”

She nodded, leaving the room with shuffling steps, and closed it behind her. Caleb listened to her footsteps until they faded away, and then he and Nott were alone once more.

He gazed down at Nott’s face. Even with all the scars and bruises and bandages, she seemed very peaceful. He found himself fidgeting with his string once more now his hands weren’t occupied with a mug, and thinking back to that night when they’d first met, how strange it had been to find such a friend in such an unfriendly place. He didn’t quite know what he would do without Nott. Would he stay in this town, or move on? 

Would he be able to cope on his own, weak man that he was?

Would she be buried next to Molly in the garden, and he would have to leave her behind?

“I had no idea she  _ felt _ things,” came a small voice, breaking into his thoughts.

“She...is a prickly one.” Caleb’s eyes welled up immediately, though he’d thought himself all cried out, and he laughed in relief. He leaned down and carefully brought Nott’s tiny body into an embrace. “Hallo, Schatz. I have missed you. Do not ever do that to me again.”

“I’m sorry, Lebby,” Nott croaked. She tried to sit up a little and winced; Caleb immediately helped her into a sitting position, propped up with pillows. “Is Jester okay?”

“Physically, she is fine, though she may give you a tongue-lashing of her own later on. How much of that did you hear?” he asked, taking her hand again. She put her free hand on top of his and squeezed.

“Most of it. Mollymauk’s a weird name. I didn’t want to open my eyes in case she got angry at me listening.” Nott grimaced again. “Ow. Everything hurts.”

Caleb squeezed her hand in return. “I am not surprised. You did a very brave thing, Schatz. A very brave and stupid thing. You could have been killed.” He thought for a moment. “Did you want to be?”

Nott didn’t answer right away, and a cold stone of doubt and fear settled in Caleb’s stomach. She stared up at him, eyes wide and imploring.

“Caleb, I - I don’t want to talk about it right now. I mean, I will, because I want to, and I know I’ve been reluctant to talk to you about this before because you know, you’re on your own path and you’ve got your own stuff going on. I feel like I've been a bit, not lying, but I've just concealed...when we first met, we were there for each other. To protect each other, keep us alive. You know I care for you deeply now, and I wouldn't leave your side for anything, but... I mean, I love you.” She looked away.

“I love you too, Nott the Brave. And the fact of the matter is I owe you everything, and I would not be here, I would be dead in the street without you. And many times over, ja? So you can tell me as much or as little as you like, in your own time.” He hugged her again as tightly as he dared.

“Also. It is early. Would you like some breakfast?”


End file.
